Monday 26 November, 20×× 10.30 p.m.

Dear Diary

I had such a wonderful time walking in the countryside and feel the need to record my feelings. While walking, my feet were arrested by a musical voice which was filling the valley. A highland girl was cutting the grain and singing on her own. She was oblivious of anyone. Her voice was certainly sweeter than that of the Nightingales in the Arabian desert. There was a thrilling quality about her song. I was reminded of the Cuckoo bird’s song in the Hebrides island. I couldn’t understand the words as she was singing in a strange dialect, but the tone made me understand that it was a sad song. As I continued on my walk, her voice kept reverberating in my ears. I shall never forget it.