Vast spaces of freshwater are something you feel in your chest – the flat plate of silverblueblack, sun’s chilly gold paint. They’re like a concussion, like massive cannonfire, when you raise your head and look across them. They go off like fireworks in your chest.
Loch Lomond is drawn in watercolours and charcoal. Its long silver back stretches catlike between blunted mountains. The sky hanging over them is like a gentle touch.
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