I am sitting in my eyrie at Sumburgh, insulated from the wildness outside and barely aware of the noise of the wind in the wires behind me.
As expected, there is a lot of weather in Shetland. The morning of my arrival was clear and calm, and if I hadn’t been asleep on the ferry at the relevant time I might have seen the Aurora Borealis. By mid-morning there was a high wind with torrential rain and sleet. Followed by two glorious Spring days. Followed today by a really first rate gale: we have moved from 7 on the Beaufort Scale last night: “Near Gale – sea heaps up, waves 13-19 feet, white foam streaks off breakers; whole trees moving (not here; there aren’t any), resistance felt walking against wind” to Gale force 8: “Moderately high waves of greater length, edges of crests begin to break into spindrift, foam blown in streaks; generally impedes progress”. Or even Strong Gale force 9? “High waves (23-32 feet), sea begins to roll, dense streaks of foam, spray may reduce visibility; slight structural damage occurs.” Not according to the Man From The RSPB, who is up here even though it’s Sunday: he reckons it isn’t even Force 8. Shame.
So, today I’m doing a fair bit of looking and thinking, rather than walking. Looking at the changing light, at the unstoppable sea; at the shifting colours of the old enclosure opposite – pale Naples yellow to almost white to yellow ochre and back again. Thinking about how to adapt my practice to accommodate the immensity of the experience. Thinking about looking, and just looking.
