Life, crafty stuff, long walks, thoughts, and little oddities.


Bubbles and beaks


Out walking with my Mum earlier, our attention was focused on the rather glorious sunset over the ocean. Until something summoned our attention:

A bubbling call

Summons our attention

We scan the shoreline

Until we see it

Fat dumpy body

Grey brown

Camouflaged against weed-covered rocks

Long curved beak

In silhouette against the sea

There the curlew calls




Moon rise and morning sun

The moon sits centre stage, glowing face glancing down. The silver trail traces a path across the sea, liquid mercury rippling with the waves. The night is over-ruled by its own mistress. Gleaming light highlights the route down to the shore. Bright enough to walk unaided. In the distance, streetlamps shine amber in the dark. A trace of pink starts to form across the horizon. The sun is rising to join in the party. Gradually the sky lightens, brightens, reveals the blue of day. The moon bids her farewell. Until another night.

God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. Genesis 1:16-18


Sunshine and awards



The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and judging by the frozen puddles on this mornings run, winter has arrived. A different style post this morning. Thanks to the wonderful little poppits who has just nominated me for not one but two awards – the Sunshine award and the Beautiful Blogger award. After only a few weeks blogging, I’m amazed, and slightly stunned! I’ve just been enjoying myself, writing and reading other people’s blogs. I’m not entirely sure what I now do! Looking at the little poppits site (if you haven’t visited yet, go and have a look! Chickens, crochet, children, chuckles) it appears for the Sunshine Award I have to a) share 10 things about me and b) nominate 10 of my favourite blogs for the awards. For the Beautiful Blogger award, I’ve got to share 7 things about me and nominate 7 of my favourite blogs… so where do I start?

Ten things about me (won’t be very interesting!):

1. I’m currently having a year off to refocus on God. My faith is central to who I am

2. I love living by the sea, but really miss the mountains of Wales, and the language of my homeland

3. I really enjoy being creative – sewing, embroidery, crochet, knitting, art….you name it, I’ll have a go. Just don’t ask about the results. I do however have an Etsy shop.

4. I can’t stop myself writing.

5. I’m learning to play the violin (earplugs still required). Music is one of the things that makes me tick

6. I’m a very bad runner, but I try hard! I look rather like an uncoordinated giraffe when running.

7. My family and friends are very close to my heart – I’ll even do strange things like dig up worms for them (just don’t ask)

8. I’m a trained storyteller. I love bringing stories to life when I tell them to an audience. I especially like storytelling to adults

9. I think rainbows, sea slugs, kingfishers and daisies are some of the most wonderful things in the world (I could keep going with this list, but I’ll stop at four things!)

10. I’m a little over-organised at times (my friends and family might say ‘a little’ is a slight understatement). Lists are my friends!

Now, 10 of my favourite blogs to nominate – where do I start, and can I keep it down to that number? Little poppits, obviously. But also ….

1. http://sethsnap.com/ photos and commentaries on life


Frosty leaves and old stones

The ancient fort stands on top of the promontory, overlooking the bay. Old stones grassed over now. I stand in the winter’s sun, gazing out to sea. Aware that in this place, I am not alone. Past and present overlap, a blurring of time. If these stones could speak – what stories they could tell. Two thousand years and more this place lived. A small community, overlooking the ocean. Protected from strangers, lifted high above the waves. Imagine. The laughter of people long gone fills my mind. In such a place was peace. Oh, and hard work, and toil. Not an easy life, up here, battling the elements. But safe. Secure. In tune with their world.

I climb down the steps, to the land once sea, and make my way to the shore. The tide rolls in, depositing its load. Seabirds call, turning over the seaweed. Up on the dunes the morning frost lies still, outlining leaves with sliver glitter. The fishing fleet is out, dots in the distance. The Isle of Man floats on the horizon, and the Mull rests on a bed of mist. Not much of a change over two thousand years.

silver glitter on winter leaves

This post refers to a place called Barsalloch Fort. If you are interested in knowing more, look at http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/portwilliam/barsallochfort/index.html for pictures and  www.historic-scotland.gov.uk/propertyresults/propertydetail.htm?PropID=PL_029 for archaeological info.


Busy bodies and lone trees

Across the peninsula seems a different world. I head there today. Forty minutes drive across the body of this land. Turning my back on sea, I drive through a world of emerald green. Long shadows cast by the trees, marching along the road. Leading the way across to the opposite side. To a world where the estuary opens the valley wide open. The hills rise behind the market town, their peaks dusted with snow. The river is full with rain. Two days ago it burst its banks, covering the surrounding area with water. For now it settles into an uneasy quiet. The place is safe, this time. The shops are full of people, unfamiliar faces – or so it seems. How quickly I have adjusted to village life. This hustling, bustling place feels a million miles away. I find myself speeding up, rushing through the list of jobs. Force myself to pause. Carrot cake and hot chocolate – an unexpected treat. I return to the list, until at last I am done. Homewards bound with a sigh of relief. Back down the side of the valley, the estuary view spread out before me. Between the fields. A lone tree stands by roadside, silhouetted against the sky. Twisted round, bent by the wind. Reclaiming my pace, my peace, I stop the car. Get out. Look and breathe. Drink in the shapes. A corby circles overhead. In the distance I hear a trickling stream. Refreshed, I journey onwards, over the hills. Towards the blue, welcoming me home.

tree in silhouette


North winds and southern lights

The sunset glows golden in deep blue sky. Clouds dusted round the edges with amber. The headland stands proud in silhouette. The lighthouse signals its presence, out on the south point. A flash of light. Pause and count to ten… then another flash… pause … and another. A silent guardian in the evening light. A fishing boat is out in the bay. Riding light on as it sits at anchor, hauling up lobster pots. The north wind scuds across the water, whipping up the waves. The harbour beacon summons the fishing fleet home, racing against the tide. Darkness deepens. Stars shine in the clear sky, clouds blown onwards. The port is at rest.

mull of galloway
‘Your word is a lamp to my feet  and a light to my path’  Psalm 119:105





Lamp-posts and gulls

Today’s run turned into a lamp-post jog. Fix my eyes on the next target,  run a certain number of lamp-posts, walk till the next. Repeat. There really aren’t that many lamp-posts in this little village. I pass about 20, on the usual route. And when they run out, I aim for clumps of grass… puddles … rocks on the shoreline… that little patch of sand… oh look at that… ah yes. A slight hitch in my rhythm. Not really a problem. More a delight – the sea is there. A constant companion on my journey. Some days, the salt-spray coats my face. Rain comes horizontally at me. The wind almost knocks me off my feet. Gusts snatch my breath. I speed up, trying to get it over with. My thermal running gear, new beanie and running gloves have been well and truly christened the last few days. But this day… today could not be rushed. Waves rolling stones at the edge of hearing. Gulls soaring overhead. The flash of dunlins as the flock flitted by. The light shifts and changes over the water as I watch. Molten silver rolls in on the ocean waves. Sometimes, speed is not important. Sometimes you just have to pause and gaze in wonder. Live in that moment, and hold it in your heart.

Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth. Psalm 46:10


Open fires and toasting forks

The sunset seems early today. Closing the curtains on the dark, we settle in for the evening. Crochet hook at the ready, nimble fingers create another snowflake, while outside the frost forms. Inside the log fire blazes. We sit in the warmth. Toast for tea. I stab the slice of bread on the fork and hold it close to the fire. Gradually it browns. My face starts to glow in sympathy as I sit close to the flames. Turn the bread over. This task cannot be hurried. Slowly cook the other side. Remove from the toasting fork. Slather with butter. And eat. Bliss.


Winter waves and rushing streams

Blue skies and golden sun greet me as I step outside today. Down to the beach I go. Strewn with seaweed, light reflecting from the wet sand. Ten days I’ve been gone from here. In my absence the winter waves and rushing stream have been doing some rearranging. The path to the sea’s edge is ankle deep in spring water, rolling down from the hills. Stones and pebbles lie strewn across the surface of the strand. New pools have formed, secret worlds to be explored. Yellow periwinkles cling precariously to the edges, waiting for the rising tide. Dark green bladderwrack adorns the largest boulders, draped like a wigs across their heads. Across the stream an oyster-catcher mocks. I follow seagull footprints along the sand, meandering along. Slowly I return to the start, back across the tumbled rocks.


Rain and flood

Wind buffets the car, pushing against me. Rain sweeps in furiously, pelting the windows. Ahead, the stream has over-spilled on to the road. I plough onwards. Great spumes of water shoot up as I drive through. The lights of the lorry in front shine out in the mist, a guiding light. Windscreen wipers compete with the spray and the rain, going at full speed. The radio speaks of weather warnings and flooding. I know, I say. I’m in the middle of it! I turn up the music for company. The rivers are in full spate, muddy brown from the peat. A wild sea bashes the coast. Slowly the miles unwind. Gradually the storm is subdued. A pause from the drumming of the rain on the car roof. A break in the cloud. Almost there. Then peace. Safety. Rest. Shelter from the storm.

The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters. Psalm 29:3