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


Salt marsh and woolly hats

The track leads out  towards the salt marsh. Sheep dot the landscape, grazing the rich grass. Behind the trees, a ribbon of frosty fog marks the path of the estuary. Above lie the Galloway hills, bright-coloured by an unseen hand. Tops hidden in the mist, a woolly hat perched on the tops.

galloway hills


Mist and seagulls

I wake to stars still shining above me. Night blue sky gradually lightens with the coming dawn. The tide-line is invisible, hidden by a sea of mist. The headlands seems layered behind each other, timidly peeking out from foggy skirts. Trails of low cloud dance around me. I scramble across rocks damp from the sea-haar, avoiding the bright-green seaweed that tangles underfoot. The world is fast disappearing under the blanket of white. Walking through the edge of the incoming waves, I am surrounded by muffled sounds. A seagull launches himself into the sky, disappearing into obscurity. Slowly the sun shines through, brightening the gloom. The veil lifts – light is revealed.

misty port wiliam

N.B Haar is a word used for sea mist or sea fog. It’s used in the midlands and north of England and in Scotland.


Moon dance

The bright light shone through the curtains, waking me from sleep. Curious, I rose and peeked out. Silver lit the scene. Patches of fog snuggled in the vegetable patch, bedded down for the night. The moon stretched out her fingers, reaching down to the earth. Mist rose to bow to his love, and the moonbeams sailed down, rising and falling in stately dance. The rising wind eddied the pair into a wild jig. Sitting on the window sill, I watched entranced. Protective clouds gathered around the moon as she traced glowing paths across the garden. Slowly she waved her goodbyes, leaving me to my rest.




Coots and fireflies

Mist on the mountains. Sunshine filtered by cloud. A slow dawning there was today, and an early dusk. The nights are lengthening. I sit by the estuary for a while, watching the world pass by. Ducks dive in the water. The heron stands stationary, ready to pounce. Ripples as the tide moves in. The smell of salt on the breeze. Somewhere a coot calls, busy amongst the reeds. The sun sinks behind the hills, and the temperature drops like a stone. Heading for warmth, I move on. Steam rising from my mug of tea, I sit by the kitchen window. Watching as darkness settles on the valley. Lights like fireflies dancing.  And layer on layer of blue shadows receding into the distance, silhouetted against the starlit sky.