Miek and Rutger's place was perfect for my residency: internally cosy, externally enthralling. At night I lay in the beautiful and relaxing "Prism", where residents sleep, which lies at the edge of a wild estate. I felt like a needles guard at the border between the wild and civilisation. I imagined what would happen to creatures as they crossed the border, becoming wilder or more civilised.  At certain times of year you can hear deer making the mating call during the rut. I slept with curtains open to the darkness, welcoming something. In the mornings I fed the chickens in the well cultivated garden, made chicken noises, before walking over to the shore at Knockvologan beach to search for shells and snorkel. In the warmer weather the isolated beach is ideal for swimming, snorkeling, spotting various forms of fish, jellyfish and other lesser known sea forms. The tidal island of Erraid is nearby for those  tempted to explore. Miek and Rutger are very friendly and very knowledgeable about the entire area. In the evening I wrote by the fire in the main study/working room, occasionally stopping to put on a few logs. My imagination, dormant for weeks before, woke up. I felt a pleasure at the solitude, not a solitude of isolation but of focus on what I needed to focus on. Numerous writing ideas emerged.

At least nobody owns the border
between sense and nonsense

So feel free to leap across into The Land of Nonsense,
starting to babble in flight like a pentacostal on speed.
Let your burden of needful coherence drop away. Soar 
in the not-unpleasant lightness of carrying no-gist. 

Mean nothing. Nothing sensible follows from what you say 
to dwellers on the other side. You'll wave, they'll dance,
backwards, forwards, or in their heads, or they'll do anything
because there is so little illumination left in your words.

One day, one day soon, when everything here is owned,
this desperate, undignified jump will be your sole escape.
Or so said a wise prophet of modernity, but this itself
is an obvious piece of nonsense, the kind of thing we say

when we simply cease to care about the box-for-details,
when we yearn so much for freedom from feedom.