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This is my favorite place in the whole world: An t-Eilean Sgitheanach, the Winged Isle, Eilean a' Cheò, the Isle of Mists, Skye. The largest of the Inner Hebrides, where the forbidding Black Cuillin wait patiently for the unwary or reckless climber and the softer, gentler Red Cuillin with the perfect cone of Glamaig at one end cast shadows on the surrounding lochans. It's a place of austere, spare beauty, like most of the Highlands, but there is a special magic here, something to do with light and shade and mist.
This is one of my favorite places in Skye: the old stone bridge near the Slighachan hotel, looking towards the Red Hills. On the left, the mountain with the sharp bump is Marsco: God says if I take a good enough picture of it, He'll give it to me.
In Skye there are rivers that wind down towards the water in a shallow stream:
And perfect waterfalls:
And pretty fairy cities in pastel colors:
And old ruined kirks.
It's a stunning place, filled with history and legend, and, if you are very lucky, you will hear it calling. The voice of Skye stays with you always, and draws you back again and again.
This is one of my favorite places in Skye: the old stone bridge near the Slighachan hotel, looking towards the Red Hills. On the left, the mountain with the sharp bump is Marsco: God says if I take a good enough picture of it, He'll give it to me.
In Skye there are rivers that wind down towards the water in a shallow stream:
And perfect waterfalls:
And pretty fairy cities in pastel colors:
And old ruined kirks.
It's a stunning place, filled with history and legend, and, if you are very lucky, you will hear it calling. The voice of Skye stays with you always, and draws you back again and again.
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