Strange and unexpected. Very unexpected.

 It’s been exactly a week since I returned from vacation, 18 days in Scotland, two weeks of which were spent in the Shetlands. Initially the plan was to spend a full month in these remote parts of Scotland, and I regret that we did not stick to the plan. However, the one month was to be in Unst, population 600. What really nixed that plan was the fact that it entailed three ferry rides, because we were taking our car. So we settled on the Mainland. 

The other thing was that Unst is the northern most inhabited island of the UK, and in the middle of winter it was a concern as we’re not used to extreme cold weather at home. It was the quest for the Aurora Borealis that brought us here in winter. Longer nights with sunset at 2:55pm would improve our chances. Interestingly enough though, we did end up spending a lot of time in Unst, and came to downtown Lerwick, the main town, just two days before our departure.

However, it’s not the logistics of the travel I actually wanted to write about. It’s about this strange change that came about in me. Very, very, very, strange. 

Words cannot suffice to describe the beauty of the landscape. The wide windows of the living room of our accommodation, opened to due east. Every morning therefore was a gift from the heavens, with a spectacular sunrise. Every day, just past 9:00 am, and I waited to welcome the earliest glow, break through the remains of the weakening darkness of the night, the stars still shining bright in the smokiness of the sky. Often the moon would still be clearly visible even after the sun was well over the horizon. As if everything here coexisted in peaceful comradeship, and the Moon waited to say hello to the Sun before going over to the other side of the world. 

Beyond the field, past the blue waters of the inlet from the North Sea, over the hills beyond, rose the Sun every day, rewarding me with a tranquility that lulled me into a quiet sense such intense gratification, it was almost like being drunk on the beauty the views afforded me. 

Clear 360 views, across the fields, past the scant houses, sometimes just the roofs showing from where they sat over the hill. The scores of sheep, and the odd Shetland pony dotting the landscape, over the hills and beyond. And always, the clouds. Sometimes interweaving random patterns, playing with the light, chameleon like, changing color, keeping me guessing about what shapes and moods they would manifest that day. The clouds were clearly masters of the sky. They followed no traffic rules, just busy boasting off their glorious antics. Constantly, never tiring of display.

This acute sense of wonderment, which lasted all day, transformed to a secure sense of being fulfilled as the days progressed. It would not have been unusual for me to play some music as I went about my day. Here however, it never occurred to me, and I did not miss it. Then one day, I heard the sound of music coming from the bedroom. It was not required and felt like an almost jarring noise. I got up irritably, wanting it to stop immediately. This piece of music was something I listened to frequently and that I enjoyed at home, but I didn’t want to hear it then. It was just very annoying, and seemed inappropriate and out of place. We left it at that and never played any music again while we were there. 

It’s been a week since my return, and I still feel no urge to listen to any music. That’s a bit strange for me. I can’t explain it. It’s as if I’ve been tranquillized and everything is supposed to be quiet. The realization came today, as reminders of my favorite music came up. I’m not sure how long this will last, and I’m in no hurry. I’m just grateful that it’s there and has provided both entertainment and pleasure in the past. 

Right now I’m quite happily contained by the quietude that has been instilled in me by the company of the sheep and birds and stars, and the friendly Moon who frequently tarried to say good morning to the Sun. So grateful to have experienced this joy. 

Veenu

01/03/22

11:59 pm.