Port Ellen on the Western Isles of Scotland and the sun shining! To one who has visited this district, the unusual phenomena is so obvious.
Last night, I walked up the hill behind the mess – and looking seawards, a cloudless sky stretched out to meet that moonlit wall of water. There was no sign of a break in the weather, nothing that might indicate a longer stay on this island. Islay had nothing but desolate waste to offer, the loneliness of the island is its beauty. Here, one could live a spiritual life – no wordly pleasures thrust in upon one’s dreams. After a moment at this lovely spot, I still had a sad feeling at having to part from it all.
We packed our luggage into the kite this morning, and during the afternoon flew into a cloudless sky. Approaching North Wales coast, I picked out the broken skyline so familiar to me, I guided Lofty over our village.
It was the first time I had ever flown over my home, but it was over much too soon. This beautiful little village came up and immediately was lost behind.
We arrived at Portreath late that afternoon, and I was surprised and delighted to run into Bobby Burns – one of the best pals I ever had. It brought back so many happy memories - and we both re-lived some of those times over again. The evening passed all too quickly.
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