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I wish to say so much about Scotland but I realize whatever I might put down here “doesn’t do it justice” as Englishmen say.

Scotland must be understood by its fantastic wildness, freshly breathed in up the mountain or on its whirling sea shores, wondering in the drizzle or rowing on her legendary lakes, stepping on the living water abounding grass or dreaming among the dramatically falling long curtain waterfalls, spluttering fairy and unicorn stories over the ancient valleys.

Yes, it rains in Scotland… it rains so heavily sometimes one can hardly see their walk… but when clouds scatter, reveal a clear, deep and unrealistically blue sky. Locals say that real rain is only when water comes to one horizontally, not when it pours – only – from the sky….

Scotland smells nicely, freshly, new and old at the same time… Rain washes it, wind airs it, sun freshens it. It is stoned in times gone by but it surrenders to the new armies of tourists, this time arrived over the seas and countries to laud its beauty.

But as a picture stands for 1,000 words, I believe the most suitable description of Scotland is an image of a deer approaching us coyly eating from my hand, small pieces of a big apple I fairly split, and with gratitude she looked into my deep soul for some seconds and made me understand that I would be bewitched and irremediably infatuated with this realm from Celtic stories.

The deer did not run away as I expected, but she curiously kept her ground. We were the intrudes, she was “home” in the grove by the swift-water river, but she welcomed us fearlessly… She stood there until we left, overwhelmed with the wonder in front of us and with the entire pastoral scenery.

Photo and Maria Andrei archives

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