I miss water. I miss living by water. I miss the long peaty black waters of Loch Lomond which harbour ancient monsters. I miss the fast waters that leave the Loch in the form of the  River Leven which flow into the larger River Clyde. I miss mist, obscuring the hills and the mountains dipping down and rolling up like whinnying wild horses. I miss watching rain coming in from the west, as if an invisible hand has pulled a darkening curtain, which dissolves to let sun beams shoot through and explodes in brilliant double rainbows.

We have a broad meandering river here, older than the surrounding hills a very ancient river in the form of the French Broad. On damp days we have mist and I soak it in as much as I can and it makes me feel even more at home.

Last autumn we headed down to Dan’s brothers in Mobile, Alabama. I place I only knew in reference from an Elvis song. The beach looked out into Mobile Bay and beyond that the Gulf of Mexico. The light was tinged orange with the slowly setting sun, tiny little shore birds uttered ‘pip pips’ as pelicans watched our every step. I peered at stranded jellyfish making notes in my head drawing inspired felt scarves. But somehow there was a magic missing, although we found much mojo in the from of Voodoo in the wild city of New Orleans but my coast will always be on the West Coast of Scotland looking out to the Atlantic.