Welcome back,
I hiked to the top of calton hill today.
Various monuments dotted the grassy summit, including a giant unfinished parthenon. They ran out of money after constructing only one side of it, and it was left as it was.
It was strangely cold, like the penguin exhibit at sea world. The low fog ceiling could have hidden the speakers and fans and insulation. Some cold wants to kill, this cold wanted to make me feel at home.
If you take a kayak, or any seagoing craft for that matter, around the back of seaworld, you can see the outside enclosure for the waddling birds. They have little military tents and they plod around behind a chainlink fence, making belching noises and smelling decidedly like fish-eaters.
On the way back from carlton hill, I descended for the first time into the narrow Princes Street Gardens and strolled among the trees and grass. They used to be a lake of shit, but you wouldn't know it to look at them now. Among the fountains and expanses of closely-trimmed grass, there was a single veranda behind yellow tape, completely blackened but still standing. Nothing else was touched, and though at one point I thought I saw amongst the crowd of people a pyknic unit of black and white, it was only a dog.
And that's that.
To the reclamation,
walter