She tied a string around my heart
A lasso then she formed
And tossed it round the Isle of Skye
Beware, she said, be warned:
Ne’er shall you leave him
No ma’er where you roam
Ye’ll alas see him in yer eye
Until yer drawn back home.
"15 April, 2009: In Ardvasar, my host, Richard, helps me with my heavy bag and mentions a place with a loch nearby, saying I can’t leave without seeing it. His enthusiastic descriptions of Skye intrigue me as I’m beginning to think it has more to offer than the one-day chance I’ve given it.
While we wait for the ferry, the crystal water of Sleat is up and it is pretty here in the southeast, across from the mainland--lush with evergreen trees and the sky changes constantly...there is a shimmer I hadn’t noticed before. In early April, Skye was not magnificent viewing, but it has a bewitching effect. As I stand here, I realize I do not want to leave. It is tugging at my heart.
From the top of the ferry, the island becomes smaller and I am taking photos all the way. Tears roll down my cheeks and I miss it already ~ " (excerpt from Gimme the Song o' the Pipes)
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| Ally, or 'tuna-face', in Ardvasar. |
Thus was my first departure from the island I will call home--no, I've called it home since I first left it. My ex is in the process of selling the place I've camped for the past seven years--the place I've lived alone for many of those. I've worked as a newspaper journalist in this large Rocky Mountain county small town for four years and for three years, the GV Daily News blog has been my often headlong dabble in exposing myself. I've been lonely among the crowd; I've been ill from a sad spirit; and now, I'm going home.
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| My friends loved crisp, whole-grain toast. |
