Orcadians and The Wind
The wind outside this self-catered house sounds like a 4x4 approaching over gravel. The cows in the field to the back of the property stand unmoved in the gusts. I put on my hand knitted blue hat (thanks Mama), I wind the long tartan scarf twice around and tuck the ends into the neck of my willow green cabled Aran sweater (again, thanks Mama). I don't bother wearing my Barbour jacket. This should indicate to you how warm the fresh wind is. I have acclimatized to these 16 degrees Celsius, not bad for a girl who lives in the tropics.
The wind is a strong sea wind. I stand beneath a huge blue sky where I fancy I can see the horizon of this northern hemisphere curve in front of me. The sky itself is grandfather-eyes-blue. The clouds bust apart to offer unusual shapes.
Today I met a couple of Orcadians who were suitably attired and positioned at a road junction to help visitors with their queries or stories. I think of my DNA footprint from genealogical testing which shows Orkney in my story and Viking in my percentages.
Three huge cruise liners are moored off Kirkwall’s port. I expect the Main Street to be crowded with tourists but I see only one group of about thirty and the odd couple who take intermittent photographs. I wonder how many of the cruise occupants have opted to stay on board instead of experience this now cooling wind as it ruffles hair and cuts through jumpers.
We are here until Friday. Today is Sunday.
My heart beats at the base of my throat each time I glance over the landscape or cross over the causeways. It’s like the aftermath of a first kiss where everything tastes different from that moment.
I must confess, Orkney dared to kiss me and I cannot refuse its attentions.
The photo shows the view from where we are staying in North Ronaldsay.