To Helmsdale for the 9:47

We headed for Helmsdale to catch the 9:47 to Inverness because we had a friend that we were reluctant to see go. It was raining and probably the things we managed to see en route were of no special consequence, but it was a good run. A quick glance at the Camster Cairns, a nod at trees growing slowly, and long swathes of heather and gorse punctuated with sheep.

I realize when I look at it with friends for whom it is new how beautiful it is to me. Autumn is still my favourite season even though it bears little resemblance to Autumn as I have known it.

Only when she waved from the train did I realize I had no photo of her. Feeling just a bit sad and homesick, we went around the corner to Timespan, a local heritage centre with a great cafe and an herb garden and fond memories. I visited there as a tourist myself and then again in the early days as I was feeling my way in this new world.

As I sat overlooking the garden I almost felt as if I could collect those avatars and join them up and be wiser and more content. Instead, I felt a restlessness, a sweet melancholy. I know the antidote for this feeling is to get busy. It is the edge of homesickness and nostalgia that can trump even a lovely heathered landscape.

I strolled through the garden with my camera and looked at the new exhibit upstairs, which I found I liked much more than I had expected to. I collected permission to photograph and details about the artist and such like and began framing an article for the paper. The purposefulness of it made me feel less distracted.