Waking early this Christmas morning, I am grateful for the small things. My daughter is asleep in her room. After yesterday’s rain, there will be no snow today, making our Christmas journey easier.
And at the moment, I’m in the grip of an interesting ‘earworm’. I can’t seem to shake the insistent progress of a particular fiddle tune in my head. It’s a funny, crooked, droney little thing called “Fisherman’s Song for Calling the Seals,” very Scottish indeed, appealing to my latent Celt. I learned it from an Ossian recording, “Seal’s Song”.
There are no seals to call here in Amherst, Massachusetts, but there’s something in the tune that calls to my blood. Closing my eyes, I’m in a boat off a lonely Scottish isle with a wee whistle between my lips blowing this tune to seals, hoping to see a few this Christmas Day. Fey lot, we fiddlers!