Lapis and Gold

The windmills are endless in Scotland. They spill from the hillsides into the ocean and on in neat little rows towards infinity. Twirling helixes of bioplastic and aluminium dance as the train rolls by. The sunlight is sliced to ribbons as it hits the sea, gentle waves rolling towards shore. From this distance, they look like shifting lapis; dark, but gilded with veins of rose-gold where the foam catches the sun. I snatch their patterns for my sketchbook, tracing their flows onto the page absently, imagining them painted on the walls of a housing row back in Carlisle.

I glance again around my compartment. It’s small, intended for two people at most. My mess, accumulated over the journey as I read or ate or searched my hastily packed bags for a phone charger, brings that down to one. The space itself is somewhat boring; all white fibreglass and pale grey fabric fittings. It has its own skylight, and small solar-LEDs set into the curved ceiling. The light smears a little in my vision, flat colours given texture by my ever-present visual static, like I’m looking at the world through an old TV.

My wandering eyes catch sight of a scratch in the horizon, a small dot of blackness straddling the line between sea and sky. I lean towards the window a little, frosting some of the pane with condensation, and cupping my hands around my eyes to cut the sunset’s glare. The shape resolves itself a little, blocky and squat.

An oil rig.

Disused now, of course, and probably frequented more by seagulls than people. The program to dismantle them had fallen somewhat by the wayside in recent years, with funding flowing more towards the wind farms, hydroelectric dams and solar fields. The thought of taking a boat out there - as I plan - is an uneasy one. But Alistair’s friend from Thurso apparently made the trip regularly.

Given the low winds and clear skies I saw as the train slid north, I expect the boat trip to be pleasant, even with my fear of deep water and the likely unsafe place I’d be exploring and the company, whom I’d yet to meet and-

With a cry of its horn the train plunged into darkness, tearing the view of the wind farm away as we entered a short tunnel section. The sun flashed back a few seconds later, this time illuminating a longer curve of coast, ragged shores of sedimentary stone stumbling into the waters.

This side of the peninsula was more sheltered, and I saw my destination nestled at its far end; three neat rows of houses built into the slope, connected by grassed over roads, and gathered around a small air-skiff pad. Even though it was still some miles distant, I could smell the scents of it; salt, fish, and baking, layered over the heather that grew from every boulder on the slope. The sight of it pushed my catastrophizing to the back of my mind, replacing it with visions of water refractions and faint cello music.

I decided that I’d paint it if I got the chance; watercolour to convey the salt, inks for the linework. I might even take Rani up on her offer to teach me to sculpt. The landforms around Storrness really were something.

Tearing my gaze from the rapidly approaching town, I glanced at my phone, re-reading the directions to the cottage we were renting just one more time before shoving the things I’d got out into various bags haphazardly.

The roadkill screech of train breaks are not something I enjoy, and I spent a good minute and half searching the seats and table for where I’d put my earphone case, drowning the deceleration in white noise and folk music as I clambered out into the corridor. The smell of the sea flooded through the opening doors, real this time, and I wrestled my suitcases onto the platform with the assistance of the smiling student I’d bumped into at Carlisle Station.

He said something before getting back on the train, but I didn’t have the confidence to tell him I couldn’t hear a word over my music. I just waved instead, which must have been the right thing to do as he chuckled and gave a mock salute through the closing doors.

I turned to the station after a few seconds, and strode towards the waiting area.