When Sharon and I traveled to Scotland in 2013, we found ourselves driving along the A82, bound for the Isle of Skye, when a small road sign caught our eye. It pointed toward the ruins of Invergarry Castle and the Glengarry Castle Hotel. Intrigued, we couldn’t resist the call to explore.
Down a winding, single-lane road, embraced by the overhanging branches of ancient trees, we ventured toward the ruins. The air was thick with history, the whispers of the past carried on the breeze. After wandering the remnants of the castle, we followed the path to the hotel, stepping inside for afternoon tea. As we sipped and savored the moment, we vowed to return one day.
And we did.
On our next trip in 2017, I surprised Sharon with an overnight stay in a breathtaking room that overlooked the still waters of Loch Oich. Morning light danced upon the loch as we lingered over breakfast, reluctant to leave the enchantment behind. When we finally departed, we took our time along the same narrow road, reluctant to rush our farewell.
At one particular bend, I felt compelled to stop. A towering tree stood beside the road, its massive trunk etched with the passage of time. How many seasons had it witnessed? How many stories had unfolded beneath its branches? The interplay of light and shadow across its textured bark mesmerized me—the highlights on its eastern side a perfect counterpoint to the deep shadows cast by the canopy above.
Later, when I pulled the image onto my computer back home, there was no doubt—it was meant to be rendered in black and white. The essence of that moment, the quiet reverence I had felt, was captured in stark contrast, timeless and enduring.
