Walking in edinburgh is like stepping into old shoes that magically become alive. It has not changed a bit. There are new shops in old places and the people I’m meeting somehow fit into the old archetypes. Working freelance is a joy when you can keep on top of work while cycling through Europe’s finest cities.
There is also renewal. Impressions of the town – with its cliffs at the ends of streets set against blue sky, a fresh wind billowing down each – renew along old lines. I am not the same as I was, and while the outlines remain the same, the fillings are fuller full and more mature. People’s lives outgrown past assumptions, learning again in familiar situations.
I can relax in this stone village. I meet several people that I know but did not expect to see and miss many more. This home away from home keeps singing her secrets in so many tunes the undertow of Scottish melancholy and grim sophistication. It’s the laughing sorts who know too much dread. The lines on their faces betray what the cackles and swiftly sunk pints hide. Warmth seeps through every one, as the cold wind blows and blows.