A little festive fun. Red winter berries seem more vibrant this year. Green leaves quiver in the wind. We walk amongst the spruce and pine, sighing with their creaky bough songs, listening to green needles tingle. There may be snow for Christmas. Candles bright in windows. The sky darkens quickly in the afternoon. Stars visit …
Summer in the Outer Hebrides. The sun uplifts us, we’re early to rise and feeling wise. Adventures beckon in the wind gusting off the sea. Sparkles of salt spray drench our smiles. We splash in the cold water and run through the marram grass and red clover, the wild carrot bearing its crowns of seeds …
When you grow up in the Hebrides among your tough Harris Tweed-clad menfolk and the smell of wet tweed and feel of rough wool is as familiar to you as your own skin you have permission to mess with it. The ancient coming together of our island sheep wool in woven and knitted form is …
Summer: here comes the sun …the smiles returning to the faces
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes. Ah. The cooling wind makes the machair flowers dance in pretty pinks and bright yellow. Bumble bees buzz the red clover.
Moths visit at night, painted ladies flutter from flower to flower drinking nectar their butterfly wings move like Geisha fans.
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Winter: woolly berry, spruce and ice festive holidays
A little festive fun. Red winter berries seem more vibrant this year. Green leaves quiver in the wind. We walk amongst the spruce and pine, sighing with their creaky bough songs, listening to green needles tingle. There may be snow for Christmas. Candles bright in windows. The sky darkens quickly in the afternoon. Stars visit …
Summer: long days of languid daydreaming
Summer in the Outer Hebrides. The sun uplifts us, we’re early to rise and feeling wise. Adventures beckon in the wind gusting off the sea. Sparkles of salt spray drench our smiles. We splash in the cold water and run through the marram grass and red clover, the wild carrot bearing its crowns of seeds …
As familiar as skin: Harris Tweed
When you grow up in the Hebrides among your tough Harris Tweed-clad menfolk and the smell of wet tweed and feel of rough wool is as familiar to you as your own skin you have permission to mess with it. The ancient coming together of our island sheep wool in woven and knitted form is …