Four days here, barely enough time to know the Trotternish from the Sleat, the Cuillins from the Quiraing. More time here than most places, but still not nearly enough.

Best to leave when you’ve plenty left to explore, I tell myself. But at this point, the cool rational part of me knows that return is unlikely. 

Skye is passing from an actual, physical place to a place I keep only in memory. But there too it will live large.