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So I suppose I could have had a context for the land I was traversing, as could have been or related to travelling through British occupied Scotland with the flight-by-night runner, out of the book - Stevenson's Kidnapped. So this is what it is. I was there. But mostly I was not. Different context of times, as technology. But since I remember almost nothing except green hills and black rocks, if it would be a Kidnapped context, that was not of much use, to hang memory upon either.
The rich people's houses were real castles. Who wants to live in a castle ? Talk about closed in. Is there any escape ? The theist, the atheist and the agnostic. Very stony. Only one castle in California - Hearst. There was to be another, as he had shipped to the docks of San Francisco in crates, the instructions for assembly on the crating, which all got burned up right there on those docks and now they are seawall in Golden Gate Park. With so-much rain in Scotland, a lot of time for the sound of daydreaming.
I suppose I had a book-head more than anything. I was a tourist, a stranger in a strange land. They liked tourists. They were flattered that you had come all the way from anywhere just to see them. "Well here I am - glad you got to see me." And, "May I help ? Anything to be of service". He was the proprietor, the historian, the keeper of lore, the master of the moon, and oh - what he could tell you. He loves to tell it, that which is appropriate, and how lucky is he, that people come from everywhere to hear it.
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