Rainy Days and Thursdays
Walking through the mountains in the rain today, clouds just a few hundred feet above the base of the valley, I reflected on how much of my life has been spent among mountains. Sunshine and light-living happen elsewhere. Mountains brood. They're a good place for burrowing deep within a new book.
For years I lived in Glencoe, up in the Scottish Highlands. Sometimes in Santa Fe I would look out and mists would collect to roll across the mountains (our property there is the southernmost tip of the Rockies). Seeing that, I was transported to Scotland. Seeing the mists today Scotland came straight to mind. Somehow those Highlands have lodged themselves as my primary mountain landscape.
Tomorrow I rise early and drive away, heading back to England up the eastern side of France for a few days. I'm sure some sense of relief will come as soon as I hit the open road, some jubilation when I next see a blue sky. This has been an extraordinarily valuable retreat time though. My new novel Cromozone keeps hitting what for me are new heights. It is now firmly in place, three months work will complete it. We'll see how that gets affected by returning to Britain and the need to find funds. I go back with the sense of the mountains having blessed the work though. It is a wild book, strong and stormy.