We'd camped at Sligachan on the Isle of Skye. Caught in a spell of high pressure, it was cool and dry. The skies cleared revealing the jagged line of The Black Cuillin mountain range above us. It's the stuff that dreams are made of. At that time in my life I'd lay in bed thinking about the child I desperately wanted. The odds weren't good. When I returned to Cornwall I discovered I was pregnant. As it turned out she's our only child and we named her Skye.
We are such stuff / As dreams are made on, and our little life / Is rounded with a sleep.
Shakespeare - The Tempest