Lived and worked in some beautiful places but a perfect Scottish summer`s evening takes a lot of beating. Too hot and stuffy to be indoors all day but needs must - fans going nineteen to the dozen at work. However, by nine o`clock this evening, though the sun was still warm, the air was fresher and there was a reviving breeze.
The shadows steadily lengthened as dog and I walked the woods. Last year I gave up ploughing through the unmowed patches of shoulder high vegetation but if you persevere you get your own little track. Might take the secateurs with me next time though.
The bullocks galloped across to greet us like long lost friends, had a good stare and then stampeded away in a cloud of dust as if they were auditioning for an episode of Rawhide.
As the sun finally disappeared behind the hills, the breeze dropped and there was that magical stillness of a northern summer night.
Just started a Billy Bragg book on the meaning of belonging.
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