Of loss and layers

The woman in the barber shop knew why.  No, I confessed, I hadn’t heard anything.  Well, yes, I noticed the helicopter earlier, twice making a low approach over the neighbourhood, sending flocks of birds into panicked flight before it settled behind the houses up Uxbridge way. The traffic too, when I crossed the street just … More Of loss and layers

Windsor

I lower the black plastic rubbish bag onto the rail platform and hear the familiar clink of glass, thinking how the other passengers must wonder at the strange visage of a well-dressed middle aged man carrying a large bag full of bottles. It’s past 11:00 in the evening and the good people of Windsor are … More Windsor

Drostan’s Tears

Some way past Ellon, following the now muddy path which the Formartine and Buchan Way had become after a night and a day of successive bands of thunder storms, I asked her: “So, this walk of ours, from Aberdeen to Mill of Aden, if it’s something of a pilgrimage as you suggest, then why are … More Drostan’s Tears