Day 1
Hid’s blowin a hoolee, bit I geed oot a luk efter dinner wae the camera. A job tae stand apace long enough tae tak photos though an I soon gave up an chist stood in the lee o the big byre fur a while watchin the waves is they rushed by the point an boil oot intae the bay. Thir wis so much salt in the air that you couldna see fer, no view o Helliar Holm an the Village the day. The air wis damp an I could taste the salt on me lips. Big lumps o sea speum blew by an settled on the gress in the gerdeen.
A lone goose rose fae aboot the pond an set off intae the wind. Thir wis notheen elegant aboot him is he flapped desperately tae get gan in the face o the gale. A flock o peedie birds fleeted low across the field, tae stop the wind takin thim.
Invigorated I meed me wae back tae the hoose, bent bae the force o the wind is I struggled tae the door.
Day 2
No so windy the day, bit still no boat ur post an Ah’m waitin fur wool fae Shetland. The boat’s meant tae sail the morn’s morneen so wae’ll mibee get post yet.
Been oot wae the camera the day again. The sunshine an blue sky meed such a differ. The kye wur oot ower the fields aetin, no huddled taegither like they wur yesterday. The gress luks gae flat efter the wind an sea spray though an wur more tender lawn gress is fair blackened. Thir wis broon, battered sycamore leaves aa ower hid an roos o thim under the trees. Chist twa three tattered laves still clingin tae the stripped branches.
Thir wis still a big sea runnin, muckle lumps o water gan up by here an big brakers doon at the point that ran, endlessly oot across the bay. Fae the ramp at the big byre door I could see the sea brakin above the Mull Heed in Deerness an along the shore at Rerwick. The roar o the sea fae the east wis that lood I thowt hid wis a big plane comin in tae land!
Spotted an unken bird oot at the wildfloors. Weel camouflaged an too kweek tae git a decent photo, bit hid turned oot tae be a redwing, chist wan aal on hid’s own. Thir wis a song thrush flitting aboot oot by the polycrub an a handfoo o geese rose fae the pond. This weather must be herd on the birds.
Sheila Garson
Sheila Garson is an Orcadian who writes primarily in the local dialect. She draws inspiration from Orkney’s rich culture and heritage as well as from the natural environment.