I use the occasional piece of coal in my woodburning stove during the colder parts of our Canadian winter. As it burns with an even and gentle flame, the heat takes the chill from the air, the smell takes me back to Scotland. September. A roaring coal fire pubside in Port Ellen's White Hart Hotel, scorching my back and burning away the shiver of an Islay night ravaged by the tail end of an Atlantic hurricane which stranded many on either side of the ferry link the island relies upon as part of its life's blood.
The memory is like gold, precious and permanent.
boats in the harbour, Port Ellen, Islay, Scotland
window in Port Ellen, Islay, Scotland
Carraig Fhada, the lighthouse in Port Ellen, Islay, Scotland