The afternoon light was already beginning to fade by the time we reached it. The clouds were gradually descending and enveloping the hills in their mist until they floated just above the loch, transient and ethereal. We lit the stove and candles and settled in for the night. There is something so mystical about sleeping in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. You absorb and assimilate the very air that surrounds you. You are forced by the rhythms of your environment to slow down and adapt to its pace. But you are not lost. There is just enough peripheral sound to keep you conscious of each moment. You transcend your physical shell as your spirit stretches and spreads out to fill the void around you. It is one of the best night’s sleep you will ever have.
Read MoreIt’s that time of year again, my favourite time when the smell of autumn lingers in the air and everything feels new and possible. Every year I have such high hopes for autumn. I promise myself that I shall be out revelling in it as much as possible. I imagine the long walks in my favourite knitwear, my ochre scarf wrapped around my neck as I kick up leaves in my walking boots. But for me, autumn always comes with a side serving of trepidation and fear. Because autumn is as much about food as it is about being outdoors. It’s the season of harvest and abundance, tempting me with big roast dinners, warming stews and wholesome soups. I love to plan walks where I know there's a cafe so I can sit and enjoy my cake and coffee as the light fades around me. For me, autumn gives with one hand and cruelly takes with another.
Read MoreAutumn though is a time of contradictions too. The early darkness forces us to slow down, to retire the day earlier than usual. As the winds pick up and the air finds it's bite, we retreat. We batten down the hatches and wait, finding solace in our domesticity. Yet I often find that this time of year brings about a new vigour, experiencing a rush of energy and creativity. The crisp days lure me outdoors where I'm not startled by a squintingly bright light but instead I'm beckoned by a low sun that is soft and unobtrusive.
Read More