Out in the field where the lark it flies,
Over the earth where my heart it lies,
Oh how it sings when the west wind blows,
Out in the field where no-one goes.
-Kate Rusby, ‘The Lark’
After spending the entire day cooped up in a room without windows in Edinburgh, I wasn’t about to waste what was left of the beautiful, long summer evening. Ros and I went for a four-mile walk over the faraway-hill I pointed out in my last Favourite Things photo. It had been ages since I had heard the lark sing. They sing only in wide open fields, where they can fly into the wind and let their flutey song fill the air.
On the train back from Edinburgh, I was again struck by the rolling green fields, the beauty of the blue sky and the blue sea and the green hills in between. I live in such a beautiful place. It is a privilege to live here. I want to drink it in, fill my lungs and my soul with lark song and lush green and the sea.
Look for the clump of trees in the centre of the above middle photograph, on the ridge of the hill — that is where we crossed the hill; the town is on the other side.
And, on the way back, the same view as the photo at the top of this post, only a couple of hours later: