Anticipation. Effusive greetings. Too-tight hugs. Bouncing with glee. Catch-ups. Cosy corners for cosy chats. Early morning wake-up calls. Freezing air. Burning thighs. Just ten more steps, nearly there. Cheeks rosy. Grinning at each other. Wordless happiness, catching eyes. Fresh baked scones. Oodles of cream. Contentment. Mountain-goat-jumping-descent. Leisurely lunch. Bread dipped in luscious garlicky melted butter. Long goodbyes. Long hellos. Words overflowing. Words failing. Plan-making, dream-sharing, candlelight.
It feels like there's been a cloud over Edinburgh, uneasy and restless. Noone being quite certain of how they feel, of why they feel. Lethargy, apathy. We trekked up a hill, while everyone was most likely sleeping off their hangovers, and it was like the air up there was less confusing. The cloud seemed almost visible, tangible. This blanket of mist. On our little peak we were above it. I like how it's reminded me that this feeling won't last forever, that all clouds get blown away to leave only crisp, clean air.