Two Poached Eggs on Loch Lomond
Chemotherapy, for the moment, has narrowed the walls of life somewhat. Don’t overdo the walking. Eat healthily. Stay away from people. Sensible advice, of course, but even sensible advice can begin to feel like a small room with the windows painted shut.
My wife could see the cabin fever working on me. So, at 6.30 on Sunday morning, she said, “Go and get ready. We can drive to Glencoe.”
I was reluctant. Glencoe is glorious, but the road can be difficult when the weather is kind and every car and campervan in Scotland seems to have had the same revelation. So, as a compromise, I suggested breakfast at Duck Bay Marina on Loch Lomond.
“After all,” I reasoned, “it will be quiet at nine in the morning.”
And so it was.
We sat there having breakfast, looking out over the loch, watching the early morning bathers brave the low-temperature water. Swifts skimmed the surface, swift by name and swift by nature, while two swans kept dignified guard over their little ones.
The beauty of creation has this way of reviving the soul when one feels a wee bit north of one’s usual temperament. I felt it happen in that short time. The walls moved back a little. The air came in. Something in me breathed again.
After breakfast, we walked along the loch, watching people arrive and prepare for a day on the beach. Families carried bags and towels. Children had that holiday energy that seems to arrive before the sun has fully committed itself. It was good to see life gathering around the water.
But then I began to notice them: food packets, empty cans, plastic bottles cast aside on the beach, even though bins were available. I had a quiet rant inside myself.
The therapeutic value of God's handiwork is no coincidence. It is a gift for man to enjoy. Yet, like selfish children, we open the gift and throw away the wrapper. Some, it seems, would cut down the tree just to get at the fruit.
How long will we have these beautiful places if some are bent on not caring for them?
There is a verse in the Book of Revelation that speaks of God bringing to ruin those who ruin the earth. It came to mind as I stood there, looking at the loch, the birds, the swans, the children, and the litter.
We are not owners of such places. We are guests, stewards instructed to care for our planetary home. And if creation can do so much to restore us, surely, we might show the humility to protect it.
Two poached eggs, a view of Loch Lomond, and a walk by the water did me better than I expected. But it also reminded me that gratitude must become more than a feeling. Sometimes it needs to bend down, pick something up, and leave a place better than it found it.