We’ve only been on this island a few hours but I can already appreciate the aptness of the appellation. A beautiful name for a beautiful place: Skye. 

Mountains rise from the mist. Heather decks the hills. A harbor curves gracefully outside our window. There’s an old-fashioned square-rigged schooner parked in the bay. Not sure why, but it seems to fit.

On the way over, dolphins swam by our ferry, leaping and diving, as if to welcome us. Three jumped from the water at once in perfect synchrony.

As the day winds down, a cloud moves over the hill that juts into the loch, creating a perfect replica of itself in shade on the mountainside.