small quietness

I set up my camp at Kilvrecht on Loch Rannoch`s southern shore. I wasn`t bivouacking under a fallen birch tree in the Black Wood, in the snow, like Robert MacFarlane . However, again inspired by his Wild Places,  I still want to experience what Nan Shepherd described of the Cairngorms: "No one knows the mountain completely who has not slept on it. As one slips over into sleep, the mind grows limpid; the body melts; perception alone remains. These moments of quiescent perceptiveness before sleep are amongst the most rewarding of the day. I am emptied of preoccupation, there is nothing between me and the earth and the sky."  [p91]

Leaving my tent I wandered for some hours along a trail skirting the Black Wood`s edge. At its upper tipping point I glimpsed a stretch of still water fenced in and almost hidden behind trees. There was no way in for eye or body to fully appreciate the lochen`s size or nature.

Then I found a lightly indented grass trail leading in to shoreside. 

Such quiet.... Sound-proofed against wind and tree sway. At my vision`s edge, the light plink and ripple of a trout jumping happened. And again. The sound of quietly falling leaves drifted over to me.

I stood and stretched down, feeling hamstrings strain and then relax. Friday, Saturday and Sunday I could have sat, stood, even swam, just here. And done nothing else.

In the early hours before dawn I was awoken by the cold and listened to and thought about two owls close by me, calling across the woods. High, clear night song, trailing off in wavelets. Soft as their feathers.