We start to lose the light this time of year and the sun moves back towards the bridges. Every evening as I watch it set from Calton Hill the sun creeps closer to the whale bone rib cage cable stays of the Queensferry Crossing. The runner beans in the backgreen have stopped searching for whatever … Continue reading This Time of Year
I stood on the edge of a carpet of decaying roses in the middle of July of this year, which was, I think, around six weeks after they had been laid down. What amazed me was how long the flowers were lasting; that is to say, how they were still offering something to be enjoyed … Continue reading Decay
I’m staying in the Scottish Highlands this week, in the middle of nowhere. On Monday, I drove four hours north until I had reached absolutely nowhere, threw a left up a hill, further into nowhere, and finally I turned right down a dirt track until I reached the very heart of nowhere. Trundling the last … Continue reading Caterpillar
I feel like I’m adjusting from this to that, from something to other, but I have no idea what either is. I simply have a sense that I am somewhere indeterminate, somewhere between before and after. How’s that for a jumbled description of my current juddering internal compass? Let me try harder to explain. It’s as … Continue reading Stew
Micro seasons – I had never heard of such a thing until R. explained the concept to me and immediately it made sense. Four even seasons, neatly contained within three-month blocks, is far too wide a cut to allow for any of the nuance that cusps between seasons can bring. How on earth can we … Continue reading Micro Seasons
The temperature is dropping, the days are shortening, the wind is heightening. Morning mists cling. The grass isn't calling to be cut so often. Routine, order, timetables – they’re all being restored. Light cotton dresses are folded and put in the bottom drawer, sandals to the back of the cupboard, the straw hat releases a … Continue reading On The First Day of September
We’ve peaked. We’re sliding towards bare branches, denuded winter trees, skeletal frames that you’ll soon believe will never have leaves again. Yes, the intensity of autumn’s colour blast looks like it’s been run through too hot a wash; its vibrancy has been siphoned off, insipid now, like an 18thCentury patient drooping from bloodletting. I walked … Continue reading Trees Please
My Edinburgh Press 