Eventually he came upon a road sign, Blue Nose Road–he chuckled at the name and decided to wander down to see what lay further.
Flocks of sheep were fenced on either side of the road; they grazed peacefully as the fog rolled across the stone street and into the rolling hillsides.
He continued down, walking about a mile before he came upon a small fishing community; dories, cat rigged sailboats and a few trawlers were moored at the docks. The pictorial beauty was breath taking and he stood for several minutes drinking in what resembled sights he had only seen in the books he had been studying.
There, at the brink of the Firth of Forth, little houses dotted the hilly land stretching up from the water’s edge. The slapping of tidal waters echoed from the moorings. His eyes scanned the landscape again and again, drinking it all in-committing it to memory.
On a low rise sat a rustic pub; he stepped along the cobblestones and stairways to the entrance.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish