It seems that the most perfect moments that come in life cannot be arranged. They spring on you, overtaking, and whisking away everything save that one second in time. They lay hidden concealed in the normal like a leaf that is a bug being a leaf. Unobserved, until the moment when your attention is caught in sunlight on wings.
The hike up the rock embedded path climbing the shattered volcano of Arthur’s Seat wasn’t difficult. But it left me out of breath. I plopped down on a rock next to my good friend and current traveling companion, noting contentedly that he was also breathing heavy. Edinburgh swam in my vision, the medieval stone buildings blurring with the Firth of Forth.
Edinburg was already becoming one of my favorite cities in the world. The old city was picturesque and imposing. It was where I fell in love with Royal botanic gardens and ghost walks. I can remember everything down to the wide eyed tremor of eerie other which raced through me as I stood on the dark street with a handful of people. “These buildings next to us have sealed off lower levels, boarded up with residents who were perishing from the plague still inside. People still hear their screams on the breath of the wind.” My eyes could not leave the shadowed edge where the building met the hollow street under our feet.
I remember the ghost walk better than the tour of the castle. It was an impressive castle, no doubt. I do remember my first view when we arrived on the train which hugs the base of castle rock. The rising mound topped with Edingburg’s castle had a presence as the turrots stretched towards the sky. The old city spread out above us on the other side in its garb of medieval stone and winding streets. Wedged between the two on a train platform, I had felt the modern world turn transparent and fleeting compared to their solidified history.
Now it was all beneath me. The wind caused wetness blinked away from my eyes, I could make out the castle, the medieval streets where we’d walked amid the shadows of hauntings, the cafe where we’d had breakfast, the hostel, and even the botanic garden. Then the wind wavered and I heard a tremulous note. It caught somewhere in my throat.
“Do you hear that?” My hiking partner nodded, his eyes a bit wider as well. The notes rose distinctly above the scrape of the wind on rock. From somewhere down in the city, someone was playing a bagpipe. The notes hovered in the air at times too faint to be caught. Other moments snatches of the entire refrain were crystal clear.
Could I really be hearing bag pipe notes as I looked out across a scene that was so historic? My soul moved, stirring with a connection I already felt which was deepening with chance. I sat as still as the stone under my hand, leaning forward toward the miniaturized city, and trying not to breath so I could catch the elusive notes. The hills of the Kingdom of Fife dissolved in my vision again. This time, it wasn’t due to the breeze.
