I took this photo on a day-trip to the Isle of May, in the Firth of Forth. We’ve been wanting to see puffins in the wild for a while and we were definitely not disappointed. In some places it was like we were in a snow-globe, except the naff artificial snowflakes had been replaced by puffins!
Dense haar, that’s sea mist to people from elsewhere, came and went throughout the trip but if anything it made the experience more magical. Like we were cut off from the rest of the world, rather than a few miles out in a tidal estuary. We came across this lighthouse, the Low Light, toward the end of our visit. What with the haar it left me with the sensation of being on the edge of the world. I know that’s ridiculous and nonsensical. Still, it was hard to shake the feeling. Besides, ridiculous is pretty on-brand for me.
Anyway…
The gulls wheeled outward, screaming their powerless defiance at the fog that marked the Boundary between this world and the next. But they wouldn’t go further. Perhaps they couldn’t. That’s not a way for mortals to fare, human or otherwise.
John, the lighthouse keeper leaned on the garden wall and stared out across the water. If he squinted just right, he fancied he could see a surge of foam where the water vanished into the mists. Just his imagination, of course. Or at best a trick of the light. In the five years since John had taken up his duties there had been no sightings.
As the evening light dimmed he turned toward the lighthouse, then stopped himself, shaking his head at his own foolishness. The lighthouse was automatic now. There was no need for him to light it. For the last two months his duty had reduced to daily checks of the computer system and washing puffin poo off the solar panels once a month. He still wasn’t used to it.
The sound of laughter froze him where he stood. His daughter’s laughter. From the shoreline.
“Janet, come away from there!” he tried to shout, but the breath stopped in his lungs.
Janet’s mirth was answered by a whinnying call and an unmistakable splash of hooves. The kelpies were back.
John staggered back to the wall. Held himself up against it with trembling arms. That was as far as he could go. His heart screamed for his little girl, standing on the shore alone as three white horses made of mist and spray cantered toward her across the now foaming sea.
She should have run. Why didn’t his wee lass run? She knew the stories. He’d read them to her over and over. Why wasn’t she afraid?
The great spirit horses reached the tide line and stopped in front of Janet. They were at lease three times her height. John couldn’t move. What kind of father was he, that he would stand afeart while his daughter faced the monsters on his own. A good dad would save her. At least shout a warning.
Janet laughed again. The closest kelpie stepped closer still, its hooves clattering on dry pebbles. It leaned its great head slowly toward John’s wee girl. Any moment now it would grab her and pull her under. Doomed already.
Janet reached up and gently petted the kelpie on its nose. The great horse whickered gently and nuzzled closer. Janet reached into her pocket. She drew out an apple and fed it to the creature. For its part, the kelpie ate slowly. Seeming to take care to avoid the girl’s fingers.
“See dad?” shouted Janet over her shoulder. “Meet them with kindness and there’s nothing to fear. Come meet our neighbours.”
Brandon Lim 