Small?

Eejit 1, 2 & 3 (me)

Our first full day in Edinburgh was a sunny Saturday in June, so we intended to take full advantage but we had no idea how our plans would unfold that day, my favourite in this favourite city.

In the morning we threaded our way through the city to (literally) a fairytale storybook location: Dean Village. This sublime and peaceful ancient community (12th century) in a lush green valley in New Town is impossibly charming. 

After exploring quietly (people live there), we continued along a tree-shrouded walking path next to the river Leith where we observed a mother duck teaching her ducklings to repeatedly swim into the waterfalls' current, then float backward and then push into the current again—vital life-lessons for us all these days. 

Soon we discovered a rickety rope swing over the river. I watched while each of my other three traveling companions, er eejits, temporarily suspended their frontal lobes and yoga-contortioned themselves onto said swing, while nearby I pondered, is 911 a thing in Scotland? 

Unscathed, we continued until we happened upon the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art where the first thing we saw was a large sign on the grounds declaring, THERE WILL BE NO MIRACLES HERE. Insert thinking emoji face here. Later, while navigating our way back to public transport, I thoroughly contemplated that sign. Is it irony? A quotation? Political protest? A reference to something historical? And what exactly constitutes a miracle...and who decides? Hmm. 

My conclusion? Scots artists are quite masterful at "making the masses muse," or at least this mass, ha. (Read more about the artist here, if you're interested). 

Soon we were on a bus to Edinburgh Castle (which we visited during our first trip to Scotland), so we grabbed lunch from street vendors in Grassmarket, aka where I first fell in love with fennel-seed sausage rolls. (They are a small but substantial miracle, ha.) 

We began to notice then that the crowds were quickly increasing along the Royal Mile... and suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of Edinburgh's pride parade! Middle might be a misnomer but with 40000+ people flooding everywhere, the sidewalks mostly disappeared. It was quite moving to witness and cheer on so many people singing and drumming and joyfully celebrating the freedom to be themselves.  

We continued down the street until we found a close that happens to have the same name as our oldest granddaughter, M, so we took a selfie, and then walked to the base of Arthur's Seat (elevation 251 meters/823 feet), an extinct volcano next to the city. On our first trip to Edinburgh, my spouse and I climbed the Holyrood side, an easy hike, but this time we climbed the city side, much steeper. 

Certainly by western Canadian standards, Arthur's Seat is no (Alberta Rocky) mountain, but you know that feeling when you've accomplished something challenging? Maybe like 1 part relief, 1 part pride, and 8 parts invigoration. Something like that. 

Did our sunny June Saturday in Scotland contain any miracles? I don't know for sure, but I do like that saying, "if life is a series of small miracles—notice them."