Seasons Greetings

I like Christmas for the pretty lights, the brightness during the darkest days of the year.  I like giving and recieving gifts - things chosen with thought and love.  I've no time for the crass commercialism that usually passes for Christmas Spirit - "Buy loads of stuff nobody needs, but don't spend too much on anyone!" seems to have been the marketing message this year.  It's easy, living simply on an island away from the rush and fuss, to make this time of year mean something different.

For me it's an inbetween time; a time to reflect on the year past, and to think about what I want from the year to come.  A Christmas Day of stillness and blue sky was a little gift from the universe amid the rain and wild storms of December.  Long Loch, as charming as ever, reflected my own inner peace back to me.  The separation between me and the landscape falls away; I am a part of it, as it is a part of me.  So the quiet space within my heart contains the entire universe. 

 

Winter Sun

These bright, crisp, blue-sky days are like precious jewels in winter.  We walk a little way along the Dibidil path and up to Corrie nan Grund to get a different view of Hallival.

Even on days like this the sun feels half-hearted, barely dragging itself above the hills before giving up and sliding back below the horizon.  The light is always welcome though, and the long shadows make everything a little bit surreal.  I can pretend that I am my shadow; long-legged and commanding.

Fun Guys

Last week I took a reflective walk in the Otter Hide woods, appreciating our autumn colour before everything is blown away by the October winds.

 The fallen tree was like a bridge to another world, dotted with fungi.

I asked the trees what they thought of winter's approach - they responded in typical tree fashion: "comme ci, comme ca".  We could learn a lot from trees.


Lingering in the remains of the old blackhouse, I wondered what it might have been like to live there.  The light was so low and sweet it made my teeth ache.  Is it possible to feel nostalgia for the present moment, or is there another word for that?  A desire to remain here, now, alongside the knowledge that nothing ever stays the same, and that before I know it I'll be swept away again in life's drama.

Season of mist and mellowness

After our glorious Second Summer weather in September, the air suddenly smells of autumn.  The path through the Bluebell Wood is strewn with crispy fallen leaves, and LisaCat finds endless entertainment in chasing thrown conkers.  The swallows, our fair-weather friends, have gone south for the winter, but today I noticed one of the thrushes has returned - thankfully, since we are lately under siege by snails.

There's still heat in the sun, but a certain nip in the air warns of the winter to come.  I'm busy chopping wood (with the help of a friend's hydraulic log splitter!) to fill the woodshed, so we'll be cosy and snug in Lyon Cottage.