‘All that paused water, unsure of its obligations….’ Robert Macfarlane, The Old Ways
Words to accompany the lull during the turning of the tide in the Minch, which separates the Outer Hebrides from the north west Highlands.
Here, much further south at the northern end of Crummock Water, few potential forces exist to sway those obligations. The path leads it only one way; a gently urged striation over the weir and onwards as the River Cocker.
I too am unsure of my obligations. Yes it’s a pretty scene, but such perfect reflections often seem strangely false. They certainly don’t engender the same visceral thrills I had just the previous evening when forcefully beaten by the wind atop High Snockrigg.
I’m alone, so figure it’s a scene worth recording. There’s no one else there to do it. And then I just sit for a while and forget about whether or not it makes a worthwhile landscape image. Occasionally it’s allowable to enjoy the simple elegance and beauty of a scene, and bear witness from its fringes.