Blessed

A day of firsts

First walk to the fairy lochs, first sight of the propeller, excalibur like, rising from the lochan, a  terribly sad reminder of the 15 that lost their lives when on 13 June 1945, a USAAF B-24 Liberator bomber didn’t quite make it back to Keflavik, Iceland on its way home, hitting the summit of Slioch. Another poignant casualty of the second world war.

Much of the wreckage remains where the plane crashed. Pieces of fuselage lie in the bogs, the area classed as a war grave, a memorial plaque listing those who died, erected by their families and friends.

The walk, an arduous scramble upwards, sun blistering down. Rock’s quartz criss crossed, cairns precariously piled high, marking others treading their way. Seems stupidly appropriate effort was involved.

Down, on our return, the first almighty cloudburst of a thunder and lightning storm, low wide rainbow to greet us at home. It stayed, turning double, for more than 30 minutes. Iris, goddess of rainbows, our company.

She said “Shall we have a shot tonight?” and he said “And some hickory smoked nuts?”

Sometimes one can feel one’s gratitude is not enough