I've given up writing about traveling altogether, see; it's just an ordinary part of life now. Set up the tent, throw everything into it, walk around for a few days, uproot, repeat. Meet some people, or not. Exchange smiles with strangers, or not. Get rained on, almost always. Squabble with Chris and walk silently for a few hours. Dream, retreat, dream again. Wonder fondly about everyone back at home. Worry that they've forgotten me. Plan everything we'll eat. Plan the next place we'll go. Shout and point at wildlife--bounding bunnies, strutting puffins, a lone hedgehog caught in our lamp, then shuffling noisily into the brush while we quiver in awe at our luck. Eat too much, grow fat. Walk too much, grow thin. A few sunny days and forget what cold feels like. A few rainy days and forget what warmth feels like. Life quieter and quieter, faded away.
Tomorrow we leave Orkney, begin a multi-day journey to Iceland.