Scotland is a magical place, the home of Sir Walter Scott and John Buchan, Lord Tweedsmuir, among many others, but those who I have read. Both, and others, wrote of the treeless, human-less, featureless, "uncanny" green of the Scottish glens It struck them, and Rudyard Kipling, as vaguely malignant. I have never been to Scotland but a friend is there now. I talked him up about the unsettling greenness of the glens and asked, if he and his wife had occasion, to take photos. The first two he sent were lovely, of the Scottish coast, but "Turn the camera around!" I implored. He did and produced two of the finest pics of the glens that I have seen. My favorite is on the header and, a very close second, is this near-identical shot:
Honestly, I have compared my friend's photos with Google images search term "wild scottish glens" and simply "scottish glens" and my friends are superior to anything I have seen. He could stay there for my sake. It would diminish the average IQ of Florida and maybe add a point to the Scots national average.
