TheWalkinDude

The island of Mull in Scotland is my favourite place in the world, and lately I've been really missing it. It'll be a while until I get up there again so I wrote a little piece to try and describe how the island makes me feel. I'd love any comments, tell me what kinds of feelings it brought up for you.

The sound of Mull is an ageless sigh that stretches unheard over a lifetime of earth and rock all the way to where the sea meets a sky aching with rain.
I remember listening to it through morning-misted days and amber whisky nights, remember nights spent stretched under canvas and canopy and starfield, sadswollen ocean breeze breathing around me. Safe in the beating heart of my island.
The sound of Mull pools tumultuous and grey at the foot of mountains and ruins alike, alive in every stone and tree. Everything its own melody, every noise a perfect note in a perfect symphony. Crossing the sea you feel it in your bones.
I remember a camping trip drowned by rain that didn’t stop for days. I remember a track that led up a rockface to a shelter where I lay in wait for something indistinct but tangible.
Splashed moonlight woods and drizzly hidden beaches start to feel the same when you learn to get in tune. The same pitch resonating through everything. Every sound the sound of Mull.