Autumn and early Winter in the North East is stunning.
This year it is exceptional. The colours are more pronounced than usual. The roses are in bud. The gorse is flowering and the verges give off the occasional burst of colour as some wild flowers emerge amongst the dead and dying grass which is more usual at this time of year.
The beauty of the hills at dawn are a sight to behold. The mist rises gently from the glen floor and the colours gather strength as the sun rises.
Little by little the valley begins to stir. The sound of cars, logging trucks, tractors and school buses whose revving engines shatter the silence. People begin to gather outside the shop several hundred feet below. What they do not realise is that sound always rises and even at this high and far away distance, it is possible to hear every word they say.
The strong and urgent Doric tones floated up to where I was standing:
'Aye, aye. Mechty me. Fit yer deen? Ye're a better door than a windae.'
'Urrgghh,' was the reply. And that was the end of the conversation.
No comments:
Post a Comment