THERE sometimes occurs, during a lifetime, the tragic loss of a loved one - a tragedy of such intensity, that it renders speech, thought and action impossible. Numbness replaces consciousness. It seems only possible to remain still, within, while grief and sorrow envelop and immerse. Complete desolation. And yet there is something else - the faint awareness of a presence behind you, warm and comfortable to lean against. Later, when awareness returns, there’s a realisation that you never were alone. I watched, as winter turned to spring, and spring to summer and the west coast, where I lived, assumed a mantle of beauty. Morning skies a blend of muted blues, greys and mauves, with the Quiraing and Cuillins of Skye, and the isles of Runa, Harris, Lewis and the Shiants rising from thin mist. Evening skies stained with vermilion sunsets, and even after the sun sank beneath the sea, the hills and scattered houses of the villages were suffused with a roseate hue. Night skies full of stars, moonlight casting a silver sheen over all, while island lighthouses flashed their comforting gleams. Impossible to witness such loveliness and not believe in a Creator! Receding tides exposed pebbles of unique shape and colour, with wonderful markings, a joy to perceive and touch. Otters fished among the rocks, while a variety of shore birds flew overhead. With such profound pleasures, grief and sorrow begin to fade. We rejoice and give thanks.

"How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the one who proclaims peace." Is 52:7

Margaret Free - member of the Windermere Quaker Community