We almost didn't stop.
There already was a minibus full of bored looking tourists standing about looking - well - looking bored. However, Himself needed to look at the map so he pulled over and while he studied it, the rest of us decided to look around. The bored tourists filed back into the bus and trundled off to their next boring stop.
Then, once they'd gone, the magic quietly started.
The bird song and the wind in the grass were a gentle background.
I returned to the car to collect my camera.
The teenagers quietly slipped through the heathers and ferns then on the bridge edge.
Each seemingly in a world of their own.
Alongside the babbling burn, protected by the narrow gorge, the wild flowers flourished .
The water itself was stained a dark tea colour,
tinted by bracken and peat.
It looked almost syrupy as it flowed over the rocks.
I loved the framed view the arch of the little bridge created.
While we were there, several cars drove down, their occupants wound down their windows, stared nonplussed at the seemingly 'boring' stone bridge and then left - their lives not enriched by the magic of the simplicity, the magic of the natural and restrained yet wild beauty.
And to think we nearly did the same...
I hope you are not tired of my posts of Skye - I hesitate continuing for fear of boring you!
I just want to share with you a most magical and wild place
that seems to have wound itself in to me.