A Scottish experience
‘You’d better put your camera on the table.’ He smiles. ‘Just in case.’ I leave my phone and watch as well.
We clamber onto his little sailing boat. He is my cousin’s son, Andrew. A tall, good looking guy. He is mischievous and immature, despite his manly stature. We scud across the dark loch. The wind is gusty, and he is loving the challenge of manoeuvring the boat in the closed space. He is at one with his surroundings. This is his home.
It’s summer but late afternoon in Scotland; the sun is dipping away behind the hills, the water is rilled with white horses. The others are out on the water, his brothers and my kids, kayaking around the little island. We sail near them, waving, the sun catching them forever in deep shadows, their laughter echoing.
Suddenly Andrew moves the sail too hard and fast. I’m almost knocked off. He grins. The boat is gently sinking. It’s graceful and I play my part. I am full of delighted surprise as I am swallowed by the cold lapping waves. He’s already working on getting the boat up and onto the surface. We hoick ourselves out and turn to the land.