5 December 2011
The city is quiet, and the countryside is under snow. If it weren’t for the accent, in the dark and on first arrival this might be anywhere in Europe; but as it is, this is the Haymarket, and somewhere in the night to the east loom the castle, Arthur’s Seat, and the last rising mile of the walk. Wake up into a new place.
Moving at the pace I’ve been, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. You can see life on the other side of hills the way a town’s lights turn the night a fading violet, red, maroon; not like the sun, neither the blazing white of Turkey nor the low gold on the North Atlantic coast. The last eight and a half months have been the sun’s day and the moon’s night, even when the sun and moon were nowhere to be seen.
They´re closing things down; I´ll have to catch you again from Glasgow.
Hope things are going well,