Saturday, October 09, 2010

To the fank

Stepping out boldly my feet damp from being washed by soggy peat underfoot, I'm coming over from SmitVaal. The dog is screeching at me cause I didn't take her for a walk while the sun shone. And I don't care. This day is for me, my selfish me. So, I walk faster ignoring her stroppy shouting. Over there is the sea, the Minch deep blue under the bright sun but oh so cold. So very cold. To my left is the fank where the good folk of North Tolsta are gathering to catch up on the news, bask in the sun and, if there's time to dip a few hundred sheep. But where's The Crofter? No, he's not there yet. Probably seeing to another crises over on The Croft.
Maybe I will go back and take Ghriet out for a walk after all.

1 comment:

John Hastings said...

Old tractors never die they just fade away