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Ah,words alone could not suffice, could never match the stirrings of the soul, as in some distant conurbation, the sad heart, with sudden strange elation, yearns to be in Arran. For in those narrow confines dwell, high in the hills and on the wave-washed shore, redeeming spirits, undisguised and splendid. Preening herself upon her glittering throne and basking in a radiance all her own, sits Beauty, marvelling at her loveliness, which, mirrored in the water far below, is as the very dawn of all creation. Across the jagged northern sky a million granite jewels are aflame as Arran peaks throw back the dying day upon a rainbowed ocean. Then,as the backcloth heralding the night, slips down across the remnants of the day, the awe-inspiring silhouette is set afloat in a sea of silver. The jewels one by one are plucked from view, and with them Beauty must vacate her throne, for Peace now reigns amongst the hills and glens, and in the dwellings clustered round each bay the lights are dimmed and all is still. Far up amongst the dark and brooding hills only the waters stir, as they pursue their secret courses downward through the night, downward to their eternal destination, their journey’s end, the boundless ocean.

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