This is absolutely beautiful. Your words and photographs carried me straight into the Scottish Highlands — that rare place where wildness and peace seem to live side by side.
I loved the sense of attention here: mountains, forests, foxgloves, butterflies, lochans, song, love, and the quiet joy of being fully where you are. What a gift to be given this glimpse.
Oh my gosh.. how beautiful. Your landscapes are so different from where I am.. I'm surrounded by trees (which I love) but to wander in a vast open space like that where you can see the stunning views wherever you go? That would be amazing! And so green! That little butterfly captured my heart.. her colours are so soft and beautiful. Thank you for sharing these gorgeous views. I'm not here as much either right now, and will be travelling in the coming days.. enjoy these summer days, Paul. They are fleeting!
Thanks and Happy travels Jaime. This area is very very special and all the more beautiful when shared with another. I am off on my travels tomorrow for pretty much the next five weeks. Summertime. Yaaayyy.
Thyme gives nothing to the passer-by. Rub it, press it underfoot, and only then does it surrender its scent. The herb keeps itself from the inattentive, making your title exact: thyme, time. The wild mountain kind is what attention grows. Measured hours stay flat and odourless until something in us leans close enough to bruise them open, and a single afternoon by a lochan ripens into a whole season of being alive. Up there with your love the idea quit being an argument. It became a morning. Foxgloves. Then cold water you actually swam in, and a song sung where the heather has not yet caught up to you. Thank you, Paul, for carrying my essay up a mountain and singing it back to me as weather!
Where thyme grows is, in Celtic folklore, a place where the fae reside. Another time and place. Through the looking glass. Titania slept on a bed made of it. It calls us to our wildness at midsummer and to our puck like enchantment with the world. Yesterday was a world apart.
This is absolutely beautiful. Your words and photographs carried me straight into the Scottish Highlands — that rare place where wildness and peace seem to live side by side.
I loved the sense of attention here: mountains, forests, foxgloves, butterflies, lochans, song, love, and the quiet joy of being fully where you are. What a gift to be given this glimpse.
Gorgeous, soul-feeding work.
Ditto 🐝
🐝🐝🐝
Thank you Judy. I am so happy to hear that both pictures and words were a transportation device for you. Thanks for the lovely comment.
Oh my gosh.. how beautiful. Your landscapes are so different from where I am.. I'm surrounded by trees (which I love) but to wander in a vast open space like that where you can see the stunning views wherever you go? That would be amazing! And so green! That little butterfly captured my heart.. her colours are so soft and beautiful. Thank you for sharing these gorgeous views. I'm not here as much either right now, and will be travelling in the coming days.. enjoy these summer days, Paul. They are fleeting!
Thanks and Happy travels Jaime. This area is very very special and all the more beautiful when shared with another. I am off on my travels tomorrow for pretty much the next five weeks. Summertime. Yaaayyy.
👏🏻❤️
🙏✨
enchanting. thank you
My pleasure Linda. 🙏✨
I dream of this place.
I am deeply aware of how blessed I am to live here.
Thyme gives nothing to the passer-by. Rub it, press it underfoot, and only then does it surrender its scent. The herb keeps itself from the inattentive, making your title exact: thyme, time. The wild mountain kind is what attention grows. Measured hours stay flat and odourless until something in us leans close enough to bruise them open, and a single afternoon by a lochan ripens into a whole season of being alive. Up there with your love the idea quit being an argument. It became a morning. Foxgloves. Then cold water you actually swam in, and a song sung where the heather has not yet caught up to you. Thank you, Paul, for carrying my essay up a mountain and singing it back to me as weather!
Where thyme grows is, in Celtic folklore, a place where the fae reside. Another time and place. Through the looking glass. Titania slept on a bed made of it. It calls us to our wildness at midsummer and to our puck like enchantment with the world. Yesterday was a world apart.