The Isle of Lewis

Róis Clark  |  September 17, 2019

The Isle of Lewis

A last minute cancellation has granted me an unexpected 50 minute window of spare time – mine to make use of or mine to waste – before I’m due to pick my brother up from work. The late afternoon sun slants through the window, beckoning me outside. Decision made: to the beach I go! 
It’s a short walk through the pedestrianised streets of Stornoway (known affectionately as “The Narrows” by locals) to the harbour. I descend the worn concrete stairs, proceeding tentatively due to the slick of green carpeting the lower steps. 
Pebble and glass alike crunch under my feet as I make my way towards the opposite end of the shore. I know this side to be the one that consistently yields the best treasure. 
There is hardly a breath of wind.  The water laps onto the shingle half heartedly, like it’s nodding off to sleep in the warmth of the sun. The distant rhythmic hum of machinery blends its steady pulse to the hymn of the sea. 
A rare moment to slow down and exhale.
It’s not long before I find my first mini masterpiece – a red and yellow tiger-striped wonder, no bigger than my fingernail.  After that initial triumph, they do not come fast, but that’s ok, I’ve been given the gift of time.  And with time, they do reveal themselves. I am treated to a particularly colourful haul today: powder pink; shockingly yellow; lavender; deep indigo blue.  I savour and delight in each.


Words by Rachel Thomson


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