'If you can't see Skye, it's raining.
If you can see Skye, it's about to rain.'
After whirlwind Kelli blew in and out of town, I found myself with Caro in Sofia. Having recently returned, much relaxed, from a trip to the Scottish Highlands. She recounted the history of the remote peninsula, Knoydart, on which she had stayed. The impact of the clearances, the damage rawt by absentee landlords, the shifting demographics, the populace dwindling until, nearing extinction, they had staged an uprising and been sadly denied the liberty to choose their own fate in a British court (in 1948) and then how, in 1999, the current populace gained final title to their land.
From then to now, a short leap in our conversation and a shifted perspective. We compare our lives and the possibility of sustainable community against the savagery of the land, against the scale of history and feel trapped, as insignificant as flies in amber but at the same time aware that only one or two factors need be different for the patterns to not repeat themselves.
The view from Sabhal Mòr Ostaig College on Skye looking out to Knoydart (webcam).
Knoydart foundation