The tapestry of life

"I will love you Alba, the way no man has ever dared to love me..."

The Woods and their progeny have a long history in Pittenweem, being one of the original founding fishing families. I honestly feel blessed to have been able to meet some of their kin, and to have been given but a mere glimpse into the history of this little harbour town.

The more I look into this place, the more I fall in love with this community, its struggles, its joys, the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

Whichever way the brushstrokes fell, however the story was painted, it is viewed, in my mind, without judgement, for it is all a part of the tapestry of life, and the choices we face as individuals. A life that constitutes a mere kernel of colour on a much larger canvas.

Much like the fishing nets found piled along the harbour wall, each strand represents our part in the greater whole; the net, both capturing and holding our fates together in a moment of space and time, then, like the net that is lost; becoming mere fragments of our lives, washing up on the shore as flotsam, at times discovered by a curious child, before finally being discarded; disappearing forever, forgotten and insignificant.

In my life, I have always led with my heart, and perhaps that was not the best way when it came to matters of love and romance; love is blind, love is blind...and as much as it brings comfort, love can hurt. But perhaps those were just the nursery years of a soul learning how to fly, like the Pink-footed geese that migrate to Scotland each September.

I do not believe it was a mere accident that my visit coincided with this migration, but rather, I see it as a sign; that my soul's purpose lies in this direction; that I am on the right path; forever honing the skills of the heart, forever learning. And like the Geese, I am not a native to this land, but I seek shelter there in the winter time of my existence.

This ability to connect on a heart level, that energy of mine, which at times seems to overwhelm the focus of my affection, may well be put to better use, may well be better accepted, when it comes to a marriage between a place, its people, and my heart, rather than the overpowering confrontation of a love and devotion bestowed upon one individual lover. Love, which at first glance appears beautiful and bountiful, like the shimmering silver scales of herring lining the shore of Cellardyke, but which upon close inspection, quickly loses its shine in the minds of potential suitors, transforming instead into to the powerful stench of work to be done.