Writers Write. And read and stuff...

Not as originally intended - more of my photos and thoughts than I had envisaged, few reblogs, mostly original material from a writer in the North of Scotland.

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Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor

 

Tomorrow morning, very early, I am heading southward for a couple of weeks.  When I return it will be June, and all the leaves will all be out on the trees.  They are currently unfurling one by one, slowly and silently, filling May with increased verdancy day by day. The daffodils will have all gone but other flowers will be on their way.  June is a spectacular time of year for wildflowers, and I am looking forward to seeing the display.   Due to my journey I may not be able to post as often, or even at all, so I will wish all my followers a Happy Rest-of-May.  May is my favourite month, and not because it was my birthday last week.  Everything is greening, and the winter has finally ceded to spring.  

Tomorrow morning, very early, I am heading southward for a couple of weeks.  When I return it will be June, and all the leaves will all be out on the trees.  They are currently unfurling one by one, slowly and silently, filling May with increased verdancy day by day.

The daffodils will have all gone but other flowers will be on their way.  June is a spectacular time of year for wildflowers, and I am looking forward to seeing the display.  

Due to my journey I may not be able to post as often, or even at all, so I will wish all my followers a Happy Rest-of-May.  May is my favourite month, and not because it was my birthday last week.  Everything is greening, and the winter has finally ceded to spring.  

The chimneys and roofs around here are ruled by the birds.  As anyone who has ever lived in a coastal town will testify, gulls – in this case Herring gulls place sentinels hither and thither, watching for food sources, calling when they see something worth investigating. When I moved to Scotland, many years ago, the cries of the gulls were what woke me that first morning – they were something I was not used to, something alien, different, and exciting.  I manage to sneak this reference into the second chapter of my first novel. This photograph has no birds.  They were all busy wheeling across the black clouds, lit by the evening sun and occasionally also bathed in rainbow.  Whenever I take a photo of the sky from the rear of this house I am irritated by the wires that cross the shot.  I decided to alter this irritation, use the source as a feature, and make the wires, along with the chimney stacks and pots, the focus of this shot – not the almost painfully bright colours of the rainbow.  I hope it worked. 

The chimneys and roofs around here are ruled by the birds.  As anyone who has ever lived in a coastal town will testify, gulls – in this case Herring gulls place sentinels hither and thither, watching for food sources, calling when they see something worth investigating.

When I moved to Scotland, many years ago, the cries of the gulls were what woke me that first morning – they were something I was not used to, something alien, different, and exciting.  I manage to sneak this reference into the second chapter of my first novel.

This photograph has no birds.  They were all busy wheeling across the black clouds, lit by the evening sun and occasionally also bathed in rainbow.  Whenever I take a photo of the sky from the rear of this house I am irritated by the wires that cross the shot.  I decided to alter this irritation, use the source as a feature, and make the wires, along with the chimney stacks and pots, the focus of this shot – not the almost painfully bright colours of the rainbow.  I hope it worked. 

Mausoleum, Caithness, Scotland. I spend quite a lot of time in graveyards - they are fascinating places, full of history and wildlife.  This particular graveyard is hundreds of years old, many of the graves so worn as to be indecipherable. There is a vast rookery above it, and many interesting things within.   I use the names I can see in my work, often taking a first name and mixing it with a surname.  Sometimes though there are so many people with the same name, at the same time, that it seems silly not to see that as a gift, a tiny ring of reality - and a truth that no one is likely to notice when they read the finished novel.  Yet I will know it is there.

Mausoleum, Caithness, Scotland.

I spend quite a lot of time in graveyards - they are fascinating places, full of history and wildlife.  This particular graveyard is hundreds of years old, many of the graves so worn as to be indecipherable. There is a vast rookery above it, and many interesting things within.  

I use the names I can see in my work, often taking a first name and mixing it with a surname.  Sometimes though there are so many people with the same name, at the same time, that it seems silly not to see that as a gift, a tiny ring of reality - and a truth that no one is likely to notice when they read the finished novel.  Yet I will know it is there.

Keel.  Another of the decaying boat photo series.   In this one I especially like the contrast between the remnants of paint and the natural splashes of colour - the rust, the bleached bare wood, and the green algae, all of which have insidiously crept into the structure.  Sometimes things simply cry out to be photographed.  These boats were one of those things.

Keel.  Another of the decaying boat photo series.  

In this one I especially like the contrast between the remnants of paint and the natural splashes of colour - the rust, the bleached bare wood, and the green algae, all of which have insidiously crept into the structure. 

Sometimes things simply cry out to be photographed.  These boats were one of those things.

Another photo trying to capture a sense of texture, through recreating a memory of touch. Ropes in different stages of decay, Castlehill Harbour, Caithness, Scotland.

Another photo trying to capture a sense of texture, through recreating a memory of touch.

Ropes in different stages of decay, Castlehill Harbour, Caithness, Scotland.

At the risk of sounding pretentious, I recently spent some time looking at texture and touch and trying to capture these in a photograph.   In this photo shapes married together long ago are now fraying at the edges, the huge wooden door lintel being carved out by years of wind, rain, and decay.  The stone has been patched with concrete, and the door  itself has been bleached by sun and blasted by wind. It was something that needed touching, and I hope this photo captures that sense.

At the risk of sounding pretentious, I recently spent some time looking at texture and touch and trying to capture these in a photograph.  

In this photo shapes married together long ago are now fraying at the edges, the huge wooden door lintel being carved out by years of wind, rain, and decay.  The stone has been patched with concrete, and the door  itself has been bleached by sun and blasted by wind.

It was something that needed touching, and I hope this photo captures that sense.

Decaying Boat, Dunnet, Caithness, Scotland. I took a number of photos of peeling paint and weathered wood on several old boats.  I’m still thinking of the best way to display these, but I thought I’d upload this one for now.

Decaying Boat, Dunnet, Caithness, Scotland.

I took a number of photos of peeling paint and weathered wood on several old boats.  I’m still thinking of the best way to display these, but I thought I’d upload this one for now.

The leaf buds on the plane trees are beginning to unfurl. The colours on these hard-packed parcels of life are quite extraordinary, yet few people stop to look in the same way they do with flowers.  Their loss.  

The leaf buds on the plane trees are beginning to unfurl.

The colours on these hard-packed parcels of life are quite extraordinary, yet few people stop to look in the same way they do with flowers.  Their loss.  

Dunnet Sands, under glowering skies.  Caithness, Scotland. The most northerly point on the British mainland is just to the left of this shot.

Dunnet Sands, under glowering skies. 

Caithness, Scotland.

The most northerly point on the British mainland is just to the left of this shot.

What?  I’m almost a bird!

What?  I’m almost a bird!

Teddy Bear Cow, Brough, Caithness, Scotland.

Teddy Bear Cow, Brough, Caithness, Scotland.

Wick Garden One.

Wick Garden One.

Wick Garden Two.

Wick Garden Two.

Wick Garden Three.

Wick Garden Three.

Dog otter with lunch, River Thurso, Caithness, Scotland. Some people spend inordinate amounts of time and money to see an otter in the wild.  I have seen many otters, watched them play, hunt, laze and generally enjoy life.  They have all been out in the wilder places of Scotland.   This one, however, was spotted as I was standing in the middle of Thurso waiting for my sister who had a table at a craft fair.  It was Sunday afternoon, a steady flow of people with children and dogs were making their way alongside and over the river.  Did the otter care?  Not in the slightest. I had initially thought the head that broached the surface that of a seal, but when the tail snaked through the water and down the truth became clear.  After he had caught his lunch I followed him, marvelling at all the oblivious people a stone’s throw from where he sat and ate.  With the exception of my Mum and Dad, nobody else saw him. Moments like this are to be treasured.

Dog otter with lunch, River Thurso, Caithness, Scotland.

Some people spend inordinate amounts of time and money to see an otter in the wild.  I have seen many otters, watched them play, hunt, laze and generally enjoy life.  They have all been out in the wilder places of Scotland.  

This one, however, was spotted as I was standing in the middle of Thurso waiting for my sister who had a table at a craft fair.  It was Sunday afternoon, a steady flow of people with children and dogs were making their way alongside and over the river.  Did the otter care?  Not in the slightest.

I had initially thought the head that broached the surface that of a seal, but when the tail snaked through the water and down the truth became clear.  After he had caught his lunch I followed him, marvelling at all the oblivious people a stone’s throw from where he sat and ate.  With the exception of my Mum and Dad, nobody else saw him.

Moments like this are to be treasured.