This morning I was the sole swimmer at my local pool. The weather was cool, misty and drizzly but the pool water was warm. Steam was rising from it's surface as I prepared for my first immersion into its aqua stillness.

Swimming in the mist in the mountains is pretty special, the elements combining to create a soothing, even romantic backdrop. If you could apply a calamine to the soul, then this would be it.

But something quite unusual heightened this already bucolic moment. As I was nearing the end of my swim, a lone piper sounded up from the adjacent bushland. I don't mean the bird variety, no, for it was a man playing the bagpipes. His plaintiff tunes resounded about the valley in which the pool sits, the mist and light rain adding to the illusion that this humble part of Lawson was actually a Scottish glen.

He played on and as I went to my car, I could see him nestled up in one of the old picnic huts near Wilson Park. I hope he comes again.