The Spittal of Glenshee is an area surrounded with never-ending hills and ... ubiquitous sheep. You try climbing any of these hills and you will certainly bump into these cute white fluffy animals staring at you in bewilderment. After all, you have encroached upon their private dominion. The hills are their natural habitat. At least until the fall, when they are forced to leave the blissful greenery and yield it to the white craze. And the color of green is truly magical. Especially in the morning when the first sunrays emerge from behind the ominous clouds and gently tickle the sides of the hills.
Accommodated at the top floor room of the nearby Dalmunzie Castle, the whole of Glenshee was within my reach - the hills, the river, the birds, the sheep and the feeling of transcendental peace and seclusion. Just before getting some long-awaited and well-deserved sleep, I managed to see some of the sights, I climbed some hills and provided some nutrients to my weakened body. The next morning, right before the so-called "Scottish breakfast", I continued persuing the beauty of the area under slightly different lighting. Yet I still felt freed and liberated, wandering unconfined and roaming o'er the mountain's side, among the muirs, and around the rocks. Listening to the warbler's song and watching those fleecy flocks, 'Cause I was "the Shepherd of Glenshee".
(inspired by The Shepherd of Glenshee by William Thomson)