To Linger Awhile
Elizabeth Bailey
Carrying my painting materials in a haphazard way round the straggling roots of the old Scots pines, I left the shade. Before me, lay the beach of golden sand; not a soul in sight. Fine, I thought, as I trudged along the shore. Over the loch to the east, Inch Murrmn's high ridge of trees was standing out dark against a cloudless blue sky. To the west, the sun was shining on Rossdhu, casting interesting shadows on the hills beyond.
This would be my view for the painting. Where to sit was a problem. Usually I could find a tree stump but on this part of the island there were only two small trees with twisted branches. Making my course through the sand, I found a flat, pebbly space high up beyond the broom bushes and, with a bit of a struggle, I sat.
Into my bag I rummaged; paints, brushes and pad. There really was no ideal place to lay them but I managed, with some effort, to make a rough sketch. Now for the brushes. Oh no! I had no water. Everything back in the bag, I pushed it under nearby ferns. Over the shore I ran to the lochside and tried to scoop water into my jar. Much to my annoyance it was too shallow and the water I did get was full of sand. Half-heartedly, in the rising heat, I trudged along the shore to the trees where bushes grew on a spit. Perching myself on soggy, moss-like land in a wobbly way, I filled my jar. Why am I so disorganised I wondered; but not for long. A plop, plopping sound distracted me. Under the overhanging branches of a tree, a beautiful swan was floating along on its reflection. How wonderful, I thought; this was a cool and pleasant place. If my paints hadn't been under the ferns I would gladly have lingered awhile.
Back up the beach I was engrossed in my painting; things were not going well. It was the usual frustration between effort and satisfaction. Progress was slow. Shadows disappeared. The sun had risen, drying the paints too quickly. Certainly not the best time to work. Going for the water had been a nuisance. Perhaps I should call it a day and wander back to the moorings on the other side of the island, but as I felt lazy, my mind began to wander.
It was rather strange to be here. So unusual, I should take advantage of my solitude before the sun-worshippers and picnickers arrive, in speed boats and various types of craft, to sunbathe on this their favourite shore on Inch Moan they call 'Bikini Beach'. Although so tempting in the sunshine, this south-facing bay is dangerous for boats as it has no shelter from the unpredictable wind. It is hoped that the revellers will make for home or find a safe haven before darkness slips over the hills. A pathway goes all the way round this island except in a few places where the track backs inland. By pushing past tall grasses and waist high bracken you can reach the places where the roe deer lie. Some summers we have been fortunate, from a distance, to see a white stag in the herd. A good omen for the Colquhoun family as the legend tells. If it was always warm and sunny I would like to spend my time in a daydream here, but it made sense to get back to my task.
With most of the painting problems over, all my attention was on the finishing touches. Click, click, pebbles fell at my feet. No longer alone. Alert and frightened, beady black eyes stared at me. A huge swan, sparkling white in the summer sun. Dwarfed by it, I packed my bag but don't know how. Help, someone come, speaking to myself not to upset it. Then twisting and turning I crawled from my sitting position, staggering to my feet. The swan did not move. Shaking, I passed, my legs like rubber. Must not run, could not run. Slowly, slowly I made my way down the soft sand. The water was lapping over the shore, I still had a long way to go. Time for a backward glance. My rubber legs turned to sponges as I sank into the wet sand. So close! Swan pass, pass - petrified as it came against me. Trapped now, I was at a loss for what to do next. Looking across the water in my state of anxiety, the beauty of my surroundings swept over me as I realised this splendid bird meant me no harm. Something most wonderful happened.
Enchanted, I found my weak legs and we waddled on the wet sand to the edge of the wood where this special swan slipped gently into the loch at the cool, pleasant place where I earlier had wished to linger awhile.
