On our last visit to Iona, cloud was dark and low. The island a grey, vague blur. There was no wind but it was raining. It was a soft and constant rain. A rain so finely grained we breathed it in. I made my way to the Abbey, Katy wanted to browse the village store and we left the children on the beach.
When I arrived back two hours later - in a shroud of mist and rain - the children were there, changed into swimming costumes, building sandcastles, digging holes, skimming stones and throwing sand into the sea.