at once with my "treasure islands"

Eshaness,

edge of our world on this island.

Old Norse : Esjanes = Ash Ness, 'Esja' as reference to the easily split, ashy volcanic rock.

From this cliff edge we contemplate might of the Atlantic; the sheer blueness of our planet tangled in waves, spray and our awe... Those carved faces stand like vigils shaped in the rock of some ancient super volcano looking towards north Canada. Wow, it gives us wings and no nonsense in direction.

What's so magic about islands  is that we can walk from one edge to its opposite one without losing our sense of belonging. We can hug it like an old friend and feel happy to walk the shore.

I love to come on this headland. I feel at one with the wholeness of tides and stones.

And since I'm dreaming of summer, I now recall a past moment I spent with friends & guiding chums, as we made our way to the Light and back to the serenity of a auld Haa...

Magic island filled with treasures... 

As daylight overrides darkness, I'll swap my cap for another and  share the bounties of this world with the rest of nomadic hearts, who seek a bit of kindness from this earth... My chosen home & each headland for a lifetime of adventures!

moving images doon below :)

island vista shetland tours

homeworld

   60 to the highest dreamer!

   When I think of homeland,

     I look at earth, ancient part of

     your American universe –

     domes of heather

     above ocean,

   our Atlantic,

   clear,

     honey,

        crimson,

            tungsten sky,

                         mire,

                                      meadow,

                                                 multicolour;

                                                                         majestic shades of Viridian,

                                               

                                                where birdsong loops like

        cases left

                                                            on carousel…

                         where peat fills air

                            through chimney stacks,

                                       like rising smoke from

            calumets;

                           where each geo sounds like shelter

                  to fishermen,

                                where I can feel our hearts moving.

 

© Nat Hall 2007