Under the rainbow
I didn't intend to end my Holy Island diary quite so abruptly, but problems with getting the pictures through and then a day of throwing up in Glasgow (there's nothing like a vomiting bug to thoroughly purge the system) resulted in the final entry being put off to a point where things have taken on a different hue. That week on the Holy Island was like stepping into another world, one where day-to-day realities could be put on hold yet still mulled over in a productive way. On the day we left, a perfect and dazzling rainbow formed over Arran, stretching from one hilltop to another. At that moment, viewing it from the shore on the Holy Island, we took it as a sign that we were meant to return, and everything seemed very lovely. Now, though, back in the real world, it feels like the rainbow was our exit sign; an hour later the little ferry took us under where it had been, leaving the island's magic behind, and in front of us the harsh realities of life as it actually is.
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