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 twinkling early in the winter night.
Are the bees warm in the bamboo, wire and pine cone insect hotel? The birds have removed the sheep’s wool from the fences to line their nests.
We are wrapped up in our own soft wool. We smile. With the other animals we slow down, later we may hibernate.
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 …
Nights of clear starry skies and watery transparency. Warm woollens and sparkling sequins, layers of silk and light-catching shimmering yarn. Winter this year has been a natural wonderland. Bright moonlit nights. Glittering snow, sparkling ice and translucent hail. We revel in the change of seasons, the contrast of dark and light, warmth and cold, the …
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: 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 twinkling early in the winter night.
Are the bees warm in the bamboo, wire and pine cone insect hotel? The birds have removed the sheep’s wool from the fences to line their nests.
We are wrapped up in our own soft wool. We smile. With the other animals we slow down, later we may hibernate.
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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 …
Winter: a quiet wonderland of natural sparkle
Nights of clear starry skies and watery transparency. Warm woollens and sparkling sequins, layers of silk and light-catching shimmering yarn. Winter this year has been a natural wonderland. Bright moonlit nights. Glittering snow, sparkling ice and translucent hail. We revel in the change of seasons, the contrast of dark and light, warmth and cold, the …
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 …