I could hear the crunch of the gravel underneath the wheels as I made the turn from the long dirt road onto the narrow bridge that crossed the River Coe and led to the driveway. I say driveway but it was really an immense open field where, over time and repeated use, tire tracks had cut two small lanes through the Highland grasses that covered the ground with a dusting of green.

Even with the waning light I could see the brilliant two-story white structure in the distance standing lonely, solitary at the base of the imposing mountain, with nothing for company but the dark gray smoke wafting from the chimney in lazy spirals.

My new home for the next 6 months. Was I crazy to be here? I felt a jolt of excitement at the sight of the house. The first time I’d felt that feeling in months.

I rolled down my window as I drove the final few hundred feet. The air smelled fresh and clean, mildly scented with heather, and pure in a way that’s foreign and almost jolting when you’re used to breathing in a city.

A ray of sunlight pierced a hole through the clouds and danced upon the tall green pines on either side of the house. They must have been growing here for at least 200 years. What had this land looked like then? Probably the same as it did now.

There’s a feeling of time standing still in the Highlands, with ancient secrets lying dormant around every bend, waiting to be discovered.

Three red deer stood at a distance casually watching me. They looked as if they were wondering what this stranger was doing here, interrupting the peace of their foraging in the twilight. I momentarily lost my nerve and wondered the same thing.

But I was here and I was going to make the best of it. Plan B. Whatever that would turn out to be.

I came to a stop in front of the house and stepped out of the car. I glanced up to see an osprey overhead, silently gliding through the sky, no doubt taking a last catch of the day from a nearby loch to his waiting young.

The mountain was dark against the late spring sky. It looked simultaneously stunning and foreboding, as if it might envelop anything and everything that dared to get too close. Then I heard it. The sound of running water. As I looked to find the source, I saw a stream of water cascading like a thin, white veil down the steep mountainside.

A waterfall.

I could see there was still some snowpack at the very top of the mountain but it had melted enough to form this beautiful sight. What a delight. I could feel exhilaration beginning to pulse through my veins, growing at every glance around my new place, blowing away my doubts like a burst of fresh spring wind through a dusty attic that had been closed for far too long.