Short days and frosty nights. A coolness of light. The quietness of time spent observing, being aware, noticing the beauty in every tiny moment. I am knitting a sock on tiny needles with rustic 4 ply wool rough against my finger tips.
Ice crystals slide down the window glass.
Letting all the pieces come together. Allowing space. Being quiet. Feeling stillness. Resting.
Rejoicing in the colours of Spring, brown grasses turning golden and lining the corncrake’s new nest. Rudely fresh green grass takes over slopes and flat meadows. Robust leaves of Angelica poke from bare earth and make olive feather shapes. Bright pink buds of crab apple trees burst open with pale pink white flowers. Homemade Harris …
All is on the wane here; the long grass falls dry and soft yellow, sunlight is dimmed in the morning, the wind is colder. At the same time the bramble berries are bursting with plump ripeness and the Rowan berries shine red in the twilight as crows squawk in delight at them. We fall into …
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: quiet contemplation
Quiet contemplation and contentment.
Short days and frosty nights. A coolness of light. The quietness of time spent observing, being aware, noticing the beauty in every tiny moment. I am knitting a sock on tiny needles with rustic 4 ply wool rough against my finger tips.
Ice crystals slide down the window glass.
Letting all the pieces come together. Allowing space. Being quiet. Feeling stillness. Resting.
Related Posts
Spring: awakening with nature
Rejoicing in the colours of Spring, brown grasses turning golden and lining the corncrake’s new nest. Rudely fresh green grass takes over slopes and flat meadows. Robust leaves of Angelica poke from bare earth and make olive feather shapes. Bright pink buds of crab apple trees burst open with pale pink white flowers. Homemade Harris …
Autumn: grasses fall, we slumber, cosy
All is on the wane here; the long grass falls dry and soft yellow, sunlight is dimmed in the morning, the wind is colder. At the same time the bramble berries are bursting with plump ripeness and the Rowan berries shine red in the twilight as crows squawk in delight at them. We fall into …
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 …