Picture This: Distant An Teallach

Stars gleam unseen above the blue, above the ripped clouds and An Teallach’s distant, towering crown. The mountains of Wester Ross compress the heavens so that my wanderings follow in their drifting shadows over hill and heath to unknown realms. Wide vistas unfurl from every crest where each blade of grass, scrap of cloud, and ray of light give shape to the red-eyed wind. To hike amongst these highland hills is to venture into sacred spaces rife with lofty hermitages, skyscapes where gods thunder their will upon the earth. Is it any wonder that I am here, or that I am so full of wonder I can hardly speak?

A stone cottage with a rust-red roof waits beyond Dundonnell vale, compelling one to stalk onto the moor for a look at its first and only view of the world. Clouds gather upon An Teallach’s shoulders like the fleece raiments of a mountain king. His silent decrees cannot be ignored: The world is so much wider than conception or memory. Experience, alone, in this belittling wilderness undoes our knotted minds. And here in the cool wind heavy with snow and stone, the earth soft beneath my tread, sun flickering between the clouds, warmed from within, I perceive the stars below the clouds.