Wednesday, October 24, 2012


It's October in the Highlands. Most days the skies are grey, the sheep behind the house hunch in drizzling rain and the boiler judders, struggling to keep a old, dark, stone house warm. And then there are days like this, when the sky is the coldest of blues, the light is as sharp as cut glass and our cheeks and fingers turn frozen pink as we explore and gather and collect and point and planes in the sky.