archives

    Tonight is our last night on the Isle of Iona.  The wind and sea are calm this evening.  Lights are coming on in homes on the Isle of Mull, just across the water.  To the west is open water, all the way to North America.
    The island is rocky and rolling, full of green pastures and wild flowers.  Houses here are made of stone; sheep and wooly cattle far outnumber people.  The hundred or so residents are farmers and fishermen, artists and craftsmen.