The water smouldered with the ghost of the early morning haar, wisps and tendrils reaching up towards the shore, the bridges and the sky. I was late, so the camera stayed in the boot. Above, charcoal smeared clouds edged with brass loomed, to the north the rest of the haar lingered, obscuring the cliffs behind North Queensferry. The odd bit of pastel blue poked through, looking lonely. It looked like another world. Across the bridge, in the other world, the light and sky continued its show. And those in the right lane on the M90 refused to reach the speed limit. The Redhouse Roundabout smelled of peanut butter. Clouds the size of counties battled the sunlight, neither yielding, giving rain, rainbows, glorious summer warmth and the chill of shadows. My partner in crime for the day collected, we headed for the coast, wary of the rain, thirsting for the light and hungry for lunch. Soup and a sandwich in a quiet pub in a quiet village, nestled in front of a deserted beach. Sated, we wandered the beach, seeking crabs and the odd minnow. The tide out, the pools of the sea's leftovers enjoying their temporary independence, we sought new life and talked rubbish. It started to rain, but stayed warm, so we headed back to the car but didn't rush. Crail next, as postcard a seaside village as you will ever get, and the misty haar still lingered on the water in front of Bass Rock. The sun dazzled through cartoon cotton clouds and the lobster shack was typically closed. We walked the pier and I snapped some pics. St Andrews next, for a beer and a natter. It's all different and the same. West Sands then, for a beach walk and more talk, the sky ceaseless in its entertainment. Deposited the partner in crime and sped south, the cats needed fed and so did I. Crossing the bridge and fissures in the cloud to west erupted with the molten evening sunlight, bathing the water and the shoreline.
The cats needed fed, the camera stayed in the boot.