Beginnings come off the spool bright and thick: crimsons, deep turquoises, lemon yellows, greens like summer grass. Most threads dull in time, but some retain their vividness, and where they intersect others, brighten them. In some physical places, where people come and meet and go, threads shimmer.
The small inn and pub on Skye was such a place, where Scotland blue met American blue and crossed with many others: German green and British red and Polish white. They tangled. They mixed. They were musical.
I took fewest pictures here, but of all the places I went, it was by far the most memorable and significant to me. It was one of those places that can never be really captured in photos or words or even memories because it was so fully alive and vibrant. I fell in love there. With Skye. With the people who worked there. With the people who were visiting. With the locals. Over and over again, I tumbled.
And as if the people weren’t already enough to make my heart ache with joy, there was the sweetest dog who stood guard in the pub, and occasionally brought you a rock when he wanted to play.
{Can you believe I’m not even showing you the most gorgeous photos yet? We’ll get there.}
