Standing by the edge of the lake, I watch the light.
It dances with the clouds, twirling them around in quick but graceful movements, creating spools of airy, white cotton candy in the sky. It dives like a dolphin, between the water and the sky, setting the horizon ablaze. It flirts with the wind, whispering soft nothings to it, and the wind answers back in haunting winter song. It transforms driftwood and plain plying boats into mythical monsters. It makes bright, fiery colours out of grey and frost.
Winter time by the Loch Ness is one long, continuous twilight hour.
Flying Suitcase 