In the afternoon, we'd arrived in Edinburgh and we hiked up Arthur's Seat. The trip was awesome, but this part was my favorite. The hike was short but rather steep up to a peak looking directly over Edinburgh. Beautiful view, but the best part was the wind. We're guessing it was in the 70 mph range, but I don't know the exact speed. It was kind of chilly, a bit wet, and positively splendid. I wrote an essay on it, so if you've read the essay, the next segment is an excerpt therefrom.
"I stood on top of that mountain peak fighting for footing and feeling more alive than I have felt in a long time. The wind rushed past me in a primal fury, howling and whistling like a thing possessed. I don't know how to describe the energy I felt; it was exuberant, it felt as though I were being suffused with some fantastic power. It was like swimming against the current in a river of wild joy, permeated to the bone by the sweep. The wind buffeted me, trying by hook or by crook to knock me off my feet and sweep me to the nether ends of the sky, and I pulled my hair down, leaning into the rush, and threw its challenge back in its teeth with a laugh.
Long before I would have liked, we began to leave the summit, clambering back down to the shelter of the lowlands. I suddenly realized my legs had turned to jelly, all the strength drained from the climb but mostly, I think, from the effort of fighting the wind. It came as a bit of a shock to me. The energy I'd received, however, and the exultant feeling that I had felt did not leave me for a long time. I can feel something of it just by casting my mind back even now."
And back in the hostel that evening, I discovered that my hair had taken advantage of its freedom and the peculiar circumstances to experiment with new and creative ways of tangling.
So there's that. I think I'll call that good.
Again, questions welcome!