Part 1 of 2. Skye, me, and me lost on Skye.
What I learned looking at Skye
After a dodgy night playing at sleep, I woke up Jonesing for coffee. Something I’d not considered was the amount of light this far north at 3:00 am. Its insistence had done its work keeping me at the edges of REM. Hence, without the final plunge that gifts a person with an actual readiness for anything resembling wakefulness, I make plans for the day. They included much walking.
Ever since first learning to play Skye Boat Song on bagpipes many years ago, I’ve wanted to see what kind of place could inspire such a fetching melody. Sir Harold Boulton’s stirring lyrics:
Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing,
onward the sailors cry.
Carry the lad who’s born to be king
over the sea to Skye.
Wait, they take a bit of a turn.
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
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