23 Jul 2009


Near Skeabost on the Isle of Skye, this beautiful river flows over dark stones and eventually out into the bay.

After rushing through a steep narrow section, the river opens out into a large pool, which swirls like a full belly before allowing the water to continue its journey. The bright yellow flowers of Scotch broom line the banks, framing the idyllic country scene.

It is all so calm and peaceful. But this is Scotland, where history is often something that seems to happen to people. When they are in castles and they pass through a cold draft, or when they are walking in a glen and get an eerie feeling in the shadow of an oak tree.

Sometimes all it takes is the trigger of knowledge:
Suddenly a ghostly film is pulled over the landscape and you are swept backwards nearly 500 years . Your eyes perceive the shape of things that happened, the outline of events that have never left the consciousness of this small country. It is a strange, in-between space, where the stories themselves seem to be scratching at the dirt, vying to make themselves flesh.

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