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The papers feel light in my hands, thoughts like stardust glitter,at once insignificant and laden with meaning.I pull words from the air, they are slippery, hard to grasp,stray ideas like butterflies flutter,anticipatory magic. A sudden memory, a pull across the sea,caught by the wind, entangled in spindrift, pitched and rolled by waves,ebbing and flowing, gathering
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Monday 9 JuneThe sky and sea meet on a misty, stone grey horizon and the green of the trees and hills is muted. Rain falls like gravel on the roof of the boat and soft waves lap the hull. The wind has eased today but amidst the gloom there is a sense of dejection –
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Within the first few stitches a tangle has formed. I knew the thread was too long and inevitably would develop a knot but carried on regardless. I look at the tangle in all its glorious mess and leave it where it is, continue with my stitching and tie the loose thread. In the imperfection lies
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There is a slight breeze, just enough to stir the surface of the sea, a faint rippling that slowly moves ashore, smoothing and creating an edge on which I gather shells. It is quiet and the light is soft. Pilot whales were seen in the loch over the weekend and suddenly crowds were here in
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After being away from the boat for a couple of months we were a little anxious about what we would find on our return, especially as storm Eowyn had torn through Northern Ireland and the west coast of Scotland whilst we were away. But other than damp and cold and a leak in the usual
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7 November The cloud is thinner today, whiter, lighter and brighter with gauzy hints of sunlight and the possibility of something blue. There is no wind and the lichen laced branches are still. The garnet Rowan berries are scattered across the soft earth alongside the small larch cones which still cling to their twig. On
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And so the edge of summer has finally frayed and fragmented and given way to the brilliance of autumn, all bronze and copper and gold. Now is the beginning of the slow tilt towards the quiet and melancholy of winter. Mornings are darker and colder and there is woodsmoke in the air. Today has been
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It’s a beautiful morning. The harvest moon has left a heavy drenching dew and a softly shrouding mist. There are sparkling cobwebs everywhere, soft wet grass and a stillness in the air that is anticipatory. Gradually the sun peels away the mist to reveal the earth in all its beauty. All of the colours become
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’ I love rock – sheer cliffs that drop straight into the ocean, unscalable mountain peaks, pebbles in my pocket.’ ~ Tove Jansson Notes from an Island 15 July Slowly the smooth flat stones are placed one on top of each other until a cairn is formed. When the final stone is laid I make
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Looking out at the wind whipped waves I see white horses beginning to prance on the loch. Clouds are sweeping in and soon there will be rain. For now though I am sitting on a little beach that is made up almost entirely of shell fragments. Mostly they lie in loose swathes between the rocks
bridget martin 