Mașini

You can’t trust your eyes. Not on a black night in the most distant corner of Scotland when the headlamps are two drops of rheumy yellowed light.

I see a ghostly dead tree picked out against the memory of a purpling sky, just have time to think “I’m sure that wasn’t there a couple of hours ago” before the whole branch structure turns and trots off across the heathered moor.

I wouldn’t usually spend this much time on an analogy, but that was a moment. I’d already been having one, realising as I guided the 3.0 CSL back to Lochinver how harmoniously its gentlemanly yet commanding demeanour suited the tone and flow of these roads, this landscape. And then the stag appeared and the stars aligned: car, animal and landscape all imbued with the same dignified grandeur.

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