A lovely blog on a walk in the Scottish Highlands …

Humans were mostly absent from the valley that day after I’d passed a few houses in the lower reaches, the postie’s van had rattled by, and later a cheery shepherd passed with a trailer full of sheep. I was soon alone. A red kite circled above me and the wind was a brisk northerly, tossing the silk heads of spent thistles over my head. This wasn’t a walk with any kind of target to it, or energetic challenge. Walking itself fills me with a complete sense of purpose – each step in front of another contributing to a line through time and space and occupying my mind. I would trust a simple journey on foot to rescue me from quite serious despondency; or to simply ‘re-boot’ my feelings (forgive the pun). If civilisation is the human body taken out of the landscape, then this walk was about reversing that; embodying the place by walking it, breathing its airs, lying down for a night upon it. And so marking the passing of time and season.

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