Summer feels on the wane and it has been beautiful. Still the sun shines bright and warm and the clover keeps on blooming. Skylarks tumble and dive, collared doves coo to one another, the calves are frisking about and the lambs are getting big. Sunshiney days of relishing the warm breeze and the salt air, the overgrown garden and the feel of treasured woollen handknits being created, being worn, being loved.
“And a bird overhead sang Follow,And a bird to the right sang Here;And the arch of the leaves was hollow,And the meaning of May was clear.”~Algernon Charles Swinburne~ The dawn chorus of robin and song thrush, blackbird and wren. The sweet scent of gorse on the breeze. The clear blue of wild bluebells and a …
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 …
Short days, wild winds, stormy seas. The glory of winter darkness hibernation, wrapping ourselves in cosy woollens, swaddling our spirits in the gestation time, quietening our minds, listening with stillness to the sounds of nature. Here we are in the deep mid-Winter with arrows pointing back to Autumn and forwards to Spring in the eternal …
Summer: dreams of vibrant wildflowers and handknit woollens
Summer feels on the wane and it has been beautiful. Still the sun shines bright and warm and the clover keeps on blooming. Skylarks tumble and dive, collared doves coo to one another, the calves are frisking about and the lambs are getting big. Sunshiney days of relishing the warm breeze and the salt air, the overgrown garden and the feel of treasured woollen handknits being created, being worn, being loved.
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Spring: dawn chorus makes our hearts sing
“And a bird overhead sang Follow,And a bird to the right sang Here;And the arch of the leaves was hollow,And the meaning of May was clear.”~Algernon Charles Swinburne~ The dawn chorus of robin and song thrush, blackbird and wren. The sweet scent of gorse on the breeze. The clear blue of wild bluebells and a …
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 …
Winter: potent hibernation
Short days, wild winds, stormy seas. The glory of winter darkness hibernation, wrapping ourselves in cosy woollens, swaddling our spirits in the gestation time, quietening our minds, listening with stillness to the sounds of nature. Here we are in the deep mid-Winter with arrows pointing back to Autumn and forwards to Spring in the eternal …