The Beaufort Report: Day XIV

7.43am

Everything this morning seemed to run from east to west, or perhaps west to east. Long shadows stretched across the golden barley stubble as it shone in the early morning sunshine, and the sand and silt of the low tide in the firth ran through the valley in sludgy ripples.

The only thing that bucked the trend was the Cromarty Bridge, snaking a passage from north to south, or perhaps south to north. I have never understood why it seems to almost glow in the sunshine at certain points of the day, a strip of light running along the inside of the curve.