This late on in the holiday we weren't really expecting anything when we pulled off the highway. Chilled. Calm. Short, easy drive. Two storey, wooden, wide shade enducing veranda, sleepy, blueridge motel. No rush from the car to the reception. Each dusty heat laden step forward was a step back. No change here happens fast. And then there we were standing in front of the desk. Dazzled by Crystal's smile. And the tales of her daughters love of everything Scottish warms me and makes me feel adventurous and like I've pulled in on some ox cart. There's a still here apparently. Crystal's never been but she's sure we can find it. And I want to find it of course. It's hidden in the woods. Away from prying eyes. And so we set off. Through the zigzag fence. Old, old gasping bone dry wood zigzag fence. Why the zigzag? Vague directions have us crunching through the undergrowth. Singsonging nonsense to each other. Not too bothered if we find this or not. Then I stop. I've got to find this. Have to. Desperate for a pic. A blog fix. So I stop. Freeze. I can work this out. A still needs water. And there's water over there. Splashing through the bog that shouldn't be exist. Not in this heat.
-- Post From My iPhone
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment