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23/5/23

We watched a bird of prey fly above the Peat Moss. Sitting on Seafield Law, the three of us tracked its quest for food as far as we could see it. It came pretty close, just over the field next to us, then in a matter of seconds it was on the fringes, scouting the area about half a mile away. A bold black dot on the light grey cloud in the distance. We could still watch it float, hover, hunt, then gracefully turn with the wind and come a bit closer back to us.

We spotted it later on too, a bit back to the entrance of the village. A buzzard most likely, but maybe bigger. A hawk, that’s what they thought, but what do they know. Too big for a sparrowhawk. Had SF been there I would’ve gone with what he said. Either way I’m not 100% sure, just definitely not an eagle. That would be a sight, the eagles flying over West Lothian. I told them a story about seeing one in Knoydart and they didn’t care. Too busy throwing stones.

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I need to re-establish my relationship with the written word. Writing, even in here, on a daily basis has been a struggle of late, let alone a page or two in my bigger books or writing anything long form. And when did I last look at my novel? At least a year ago I reckon and maybe even longer considering the first of that happened in 2020. Maybe tonight after my workout or run I should dedicate to writing some creative words down, for it is my main way of expressing myself and generating my creativity is it not? Is it the pinnacle of human art, the nadir of experience, for one cannot breathe life into a painting or sculpture like you can with words, like HDT says?

My experience of Tolstoy is different from yours. And the Scots enjoyment of Burns, for example, is obviously more profound than any other nationalities. Words breathe life. Life breathes words. Let’s breathe tonight oh pen and paper. Forget thy worries, sorrows and desperations. Engage with the hands and the brain, the pen in the hand and the written page. Flow, but breathe throughout and remind yourself why you are here.

21/4/23

20/4/23

Men dispersed over the earth may have been a thing in HDT’s day, but today, and especially in this densely populated central belt area, we are crammed together, very rarely alone, and true wilderness or wildness feels, and is, a million miles away. The plantations of the west and into the south are bare, the trees felled, the ground depressingly used up and industrial remains, well, remain. Pipes and plastic, discarded bits of metal. Damn I need to explore the Highlands.

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11/4/23

You cannot serve two masters. And for me this means ditching one, that of drinking booze, for another, that is health, working out, exercise and Brazilian jiu-jitsu. They don’t go together, they don’t complement each other and they don’t work. I do have a love/hate relationship with alcohol. I love the idea of it, the colour of the whisky, the feelings it creates even just looking at it, the flavour of the wine, the shape of a pint glass in your hand.

But I hate how it makes me feel, bleary, blurry, lazy, eating crap, and it takes away your gains. It’s a muscle killer as well as a sleep killer. Still, the idea of me and MC sitting in some cosy pub with big red leather armchairs and not having to go home because he owns it, is an appealing one. The staff can sit at the bar whilst we ponder chess moves by the fire and listen to The Corries on the jukebox. Staying up late playing guitars with DK or the family is another, and some of my favourite memories involve this. It does nothing for my jiu-jitsu though, nor for the childcare abilities, let alone work. You can’t serve two masters, slave to the grind, the bottle or the weight room. I know which one I’m preferring at the moment.

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1/3/23

And as if by magic here is another passage that corresponds with my earlier writing. “How little appreciation of the beauty of the landscape there is among us.” I couldn’t agree more Henry. And this is even worse in this century than in Thoreau’s’. He wrote that in 1862! Imagine the beautiful vistas he must have seen compared to our modern monstrosities. Land carpet bombed by industry, factories, retail outlets, piss poor housing, even the expensive ones that are not made to last. Will my house be as standing as some of the old ones in this village in 100/200/300 years?

We take up space everywhere. Rip up hedgerows and woodland, build over fields, and divert waterways to suit our needs. Badger sets are meant to be police protected but they are filled in to make way for the human beast. The human fiend, that pretends to care for the natural world but has no interest in it whatsoever. Gone off on a bit of tangent/rant here, forgetting that the original point of the Greek word for the world means cosmos. Beauty or Order. And this in a nutshell is the main tenet of Last Wolf.

Living Deliberately

1/3/23 Bonus

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Naturally Baroque

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