We had friends in this weekend and rented a car. Likely our last car rental during our time here. There is a part of the drive, the bit north of Inverness to Dornoch, that has always felt like we are almost home. Silly, that, I know, but there it is. We took our friends down to Inverness and did the Loch Ness cruise to Urquhart Castle. On the way home, when we hit that part of the drive, it dawned on me that was the last time I'd see that bit of the drive until next year. This can't be! Six weeks from tomorrow we leave our sweet little town. I've no desire to stay here through a winter, so it's not that I want to stay. But I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave Barry and Isabel and Lukacz and Lesley, the wonderful ladies at the bowls whose names I have finally sorted out, and Margaret next door, whose warm welcomes and cooking I will miss immensely. The peace that I have found here has been good for me, body and soul. Even the thought of a real hamburger and a Chai creme frapuccino is doing little to quell the melancholy. Thoughts of warm sand and swimming in warm water do help, I must admit. And, I guess, the sooner we leave the sooner we come back. If the six months away fly like the six months here have flown, I will be back on the road north again and happy to be coming home.
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