6.8.15

It cannot be refuted that Edinburgh is as much a bustling urban capital as you could behold. But in and amongst the tramways and stone edifices, there are tucked away havens of a quieter beauty, places where one can step away and breathe the rarified ions of a more natural setting. There is one such corridor that I am pleased to be able to access as simply as crossing the road near my lodging and turning in at a small sign leading to a dirt and stone path. The sign points the way to "The Water of Leith," several miles of riverside pathway that would take one all the way to the shore given the time and inclination to follow. The water being a small river that meanders through the northern parts of the city, passing parks, wild growing trees, herbs and flowering shrubs, houses with gardens spilling right over their walls, providing shady dogwalking and jogger's pathways.

Less than a mile along the pathway, you come to a wooden footbridge that crosses over the water. There is not much in the way of signage or instructions except for an arched iron gate denoting the entrance to the Modern Art Gallery. Since I was keen to make my way to the gallery I followed the path which climbs for a bit up a stone stairway through the woods, letting out at the manicured grounds of the gallery. This is definitely not the "accessible" entrance, but you feel like you are in a wonderland, a blend of nature and art and secret stone stairways and gardens to discover, all accompanied by birdsong and hooded crows.

I was here once before with my family when my child was but a wee lad. I found myself sifting back through my memories to remember, if I could, any clues as to who I had been and how I may have changed over time. The funny thing is, the river, the houses, the trees, the birds were all the same. The same bridge over the river, the path up to the gallery. And although we've all gone our various ways, the hungers and passions and delights of my mind and senses are strikingly similar and uncannily familiar. I still stop on the path to press between my fingers the various leaves of the old tree friends - hazel, alder, holly, oak. I still look up or stand very still to see in between the branches to see who's calling. I still can't wait to go see the art on the walls. I still love the random pattern of everything. The surprises.



There happened to be a collection of "Heads," mostly drawings and prints, rendered in all sorts of media. They ranged from simply lines to incredibly intricate or some modernly abstracted and stylized. I spent quite a bit of time with them. Even spoke with some other visitors about their opinions and responses. Herein lay the contrast with the kind of experiences one can have traveling with friends and family vs. on one's own. Here I could take forever on the path to the destination. I could stand on a perfect "pooh sticks" bridge and be 7 years old again. I could talk with gallery patrons and listen to their passionate views on not only the art in the room, but what it meant, and why people drew things, and why can't the world be thus and so? I got in touch with a secret wish of my own: to be able to draw! So I bought a lovely graphite pencil from the gift shop.

and then, Tea and Jam.