we awoke to a morning of crisp sunrise over the eastern hills, the ice warming from the dim streaks of light that hit the Paisley window pane.
from first glance, it was a white Boxing Day, as the ice which glazed the streets were unapparent from the harbor of our hotel.
disembarking from our attic room, sommkid squealed at the thought of snowmen before breakfast, and then sobered with the realization that the blinding sun was melting the icy frost before she could even make one round sphere.
the sommelier, six days now without his luggage, complained little as we walked to Elderslie, taking in the sights of the small culturally important town along the way.
the sky was a bright blue and the sun crisp on the eyes. sommkid mentioned she wished she had her sunglasses, and at first I agreed.
then, centuries old buildings displayed their worth as we traversed our way down the main road, masonry carved so the light reflected beautifully between the stones.
we arrived at home base out of breath and dying of thirst, and in need of snuggles and hugs and tickles with nieces and nephews.
Boxing Day, all told, was a day of giving to the poor. not to be deemed idle on a holiday, we plunged ourselves toward Gleniffer Braes, the local mountain that provides heavenly sights of Glasgow, especially on a clear day.
it was the perfect gift for our four-season-climate starved souls.
the packed snow was a few inches thick, and sommkid made the most of her journey.
that night’s roast was a scintillating end to a three day Christmas celebration with family; tomorrow we begin to journey on, taking in more sights across this small and dynamic country.
air adhart a Dhùn Èideann! slainte!