As it was, I didn’t spend too much longer at Arthur’s Seat. The wind had picked up again and clouds were rolling in with it, along with some fiercely cold weather. My hands were going numb and I wasn’t able to hold my pen at all. My notes were becoming more illegible than usual and I was increasingly baffled by the people who climbed all the way up the hill only to smoke a cigarette at the top. It gave me an uneasy feeling, thinking that if I had opened my beer, I would have been just like them. Were these people really appreciating the beauty that was in front of them, or were they just happy for the nicotine hitting their lungs?

I decided it was my place not to judge and figured it to be time for me to go. I took one last look at the city from the vantage point of Arthur’s Peak, hoping to hold the image in my head forever. It would probably stay until about November if I was lucky. My memory doesn’t always remember sights, sounds, or information well all the time, but asked me anything that happened in a conversation with Holly, or any single member of any of my crews, and I could probably tell you the conversation word for word.

Sometimes I worry that my mind has shifted away from keeping track of the right things. I always used to have such a great head for academic knowledge. I would absorb entire books and recite them verbatim, but I could never even remember what I had eaten for breakfast. Now I still can’t remember what I eat for breakfast, although it’s usually nothing, but in addition, I can’t remember academic information the way I used to. The conversations, the thoughts, the feelings though, all of those are stuck in my mind with a vengeance. I take comfort in this though. In twenty years, what would I rather remember: the political goals of the Tories and Whigs in the 1800’s, or nights when Holly, all my boys, and I were able to hang out in comfort? I think the choice is overly obvious.

I started the descent and once again picked a stupid path. Was I ever going to learn? I lost my footing and slid down, catching myself half-way and going into a semi-run down the steep slope until I could take a jump to flat land. A mother was standing at the base with her children, who, upon seeing me, tried to go up via the same path I had just come down.

"He can do that because his legs are longer," the mother said to her children. I’m overly vain, I appreciate anything that sounds even remotely like a compliment.

I smiled back, "Nah, I’m just lucky."

Everything was misty again, but it wasn’t like the fog from earlier. Proper clouds were rolling in, and there was nothing to be done about it. They weren’t going to roll away, they were coming with the cold, all ready to block out the sun. No matter, nothing could ruin the beauty of this place. The gray gave it character, but I must admit, it was much prettier when the sun was out. I think back to Durham and wonder what that lady would be saying to me now if I had engaged her in conversation then.

I stopped and thought about this statement. "What would she say now if I had engaged her in conversation then?" That’s addressing a lot of ifs, a series of events that hadn’t happen, wouldn’t happen, and couldn’t happen. Sometimes I think far too much. I wish I had an explanation for it, I wish I could shut it off, but it’s what makes me me. I wouldn’t be the same person without my stupid little quirks, so I might as well keep on dealing with them.

As I followed the spider-web lined trail down the whole of the hill, I stopped to look at the Salisbury Crags. Another hill and rock outcropping overlooking the city, only they were characterized by their rocky sheer face and cliffs as opposed to Arthur’s Seat, which is the pinnacle of its hill. My legs were burning from all of the walking and all of the climbing. If there had been a lactic acid gauge on my thigh, I’m sure it would have been in the red.

Still, the Crags looked magnificent. The grass rolled along their hilly sides up until the edges of the cliff. It wouldn’t be much of a different view than the one I had from Arthur’s Seat. I debated for a second, then thought to myself, "Come on, let’s be real. When are you ever going to be here again?"

With that my mind was made up. I had to walk up to the edge of the Crags too. No rest for the weary adventurers when there were still hills left to be explored. Actually, there were many more hills to be explored, and if given enough time I would have explored them all, but I could only dedicate one day to the hills, and this had to be the last hill I’d take.

I walked up the sloped path, having a little bit of difficulty getting my footing down in the mud. The trails weren’t well worn, and everything was angled. But after ambling about, I made it to the edge of cliff face.

It was beautiful, another majestic view of the city. Only the portrait of the city was becoming even more covered by the clouds, and the sight was less breathtaking. Certain areas and points of interest could still be identified, but on the whole the city was just becoming one gray misty mass. Nothing too breathtaking, nothing worth sitting around for. On top of all that, I was tired, hungry, sweaty, and wanted somewhere of lower altitude to sit for a bit.

I went back down and retraced my steps over the first path that I thought was Arthur’s Seat, realizing now that it was better identified as the way up to the Crags. Along the way back down I found some large stones by the cliff bases that were just begging for me to sit down and kick back on them. So I did.

I pulled out the French bread and my can of Tennent’s, along with the letter that I was writing to Holly. First things first though, the Tennent’s. Arthur’s Seat wasn’t the place for a beer. The beer symbolizes the American ideal of Miller time. Time to kick back and be done with the day. You have your daily beer when your work is done, it signifies the end of the working hours and paves the way for relaxation.

I cracked the can open and it sprayed all over me. I sat there with foam on my face, hands, and clothing, staring off into the sky looking very annoyed. "If you are walking up and down hills all day," I thought to myself, "then the stuff on your back is going to bounce, most notably the beer can. If you then open said beer can right away, you should expect something like this to happen, you dumb shit."

I started noshing and writing, happy to be relaxing, not caring anymore about the foam that had already evaporated. It was only foam. I wrote a couple of poems to accompany Holly’s letter, happy with the ease at which I turned them out. This was a great place to create. I wished that I could come here more often.

I had stopped sweating and sweat’s natural function of cooling the body started to kick in. I was beginning to freeze. I got my stuff together, and set off, intending to do nothing but go back to the hostel. I finished the bread and beer by the time I got to the base of the hill. Of course, as I should have remembered from the night before, alcohol makes me need to relieve myself, and there was nowhere to go. It wasn’t an overwhelming need, just a bothersome one, and I had a mile or more to walk. Like I said, nothing horrible, just bothersome. I hoped that I would learn my lesson before too long here in Edinburgh.

I hit the Royal Mile and realized that I was coming to High Street. High Street Whisky Shop. I needed to get Neal his bottle of Moniack Castle Mead. I didn’t see the store he was talking about on this half of High Street. I was hoping that it was just on the other end, he would have been very disappointed if the place had closed. He had spoken of it very highly. But it was a tired Sunday that was moving on into the afternoon. A lot of shops in this part of town, Old Town, weren’t even open, so it was a task to tackle another day. I wanted to get back. I crossed the bridge over the train station and made it back up the stairs to the hostel, flashing my blue card as I went in, hoping to avoid contact with anybody. After I hit the bathroom, I was tired as hell and in need of a nap. I don’t know if my head had even hit the pillow before I had fallen asleep.