A fiery red orange sun, swimming through the dawn like a large brass penny. Set the glass at the back of the house blazing. Tracing the clouds above in gold leaf. At the front a heavy sea mist still hung over the waters of Port Charlotte, like a thick velvet curtain shut on the final […]Read More The weavers tale
As the air has warmed and the wind has died, the midges have descended. Its a sure sign of summer arriving in the Hebrides, even when the sky does not always mirror it. Small tiny flies with one hell of a bite leaving one hell of an itch. Wrapping its way around the island the […]Read More Journey to the Hebrides
Waiting for the rubbish removal is a momentous occasion in our household. As Noah has become accustomed to patiently await its appearance at the gate steps. Clutching his own much loved plastic bin truck in his hands. Mustard coloured with a small lift up lid it is well played with and well loved. The truck […]Read More I watch the sunrise
With Elizabeth perched on my hip, the sea expanded before me and a breeze blown from the east warmed my face. It had been consecutively warm for a good handful of days in the Hebrides and I was enjoying the freedom it brought. When I say warm. I mean 12 degrees. Which when paired with […]Read More Said the robin to the sparrow
January came, as it always does and with it that dull rain that signals very little. By this point Christmas had faded but spring had yet to begin its yearly hum. A kind of no mans land, where especially in Scotland the season stagnates and appears unending. Long hard winters are a Hebridean fact file […]Read More The Lighthouse
I am often looked upon with sheer amazement when I tell people of our frequent relocation’s. ‘So you just go?!’ They protest. ‘Just like that?’ My answer always simply ‘Yes’. In fact I am always a little amazed in return at how few people would be willing to follow their partners just because they are […]Read More I will, follow him.
Spring has begun to fashion herself on the Isle as golden sways of daffodils brave face in the cold. Crisp air, the kind in which washing comes off the line cold and fresh. The wind has broken leaving a welcome breeze in its wake. Washing days. I live for days such as those. I have […]Read More I simply remember my favourite things.
Harris has begun to exhale its finale breath of winter. The mountain stretching above the house on some occasions has housed a sky of cornflower blue and in the early evenings a lull has begun to break. A kind of sunny coolness that signals a change in season. The promise of ultramarine skies and balmy evenings […]Read More Feel the breeze of the Hebrides
So high up on the mountain are we at Kyles that the view of the sea coming into land is panoramic, washing the fishing boats across the front of the house with the tide. Miniature. As they cut the great expanse of water. Circled always overhead by one or two gulls anticipating the days catch. […]Read More To all the shiny bits
After having moved to The Isle of Harris there became days, encounters, conversations to which I have little recollection of. New faces blurred on mass and unknown places with foreign signage became jumbled as I tried to navigate deep waters. When you move somewhere that holds a change in culture your brain churns through information […]Read More To Grace, Amazing