“I spent many hours and drove many miles, chasing the perfect scene and perfect light, only to find it was right there in front of me all along”.
During our six days on the Isle of Harris I fell in love with the view from our window. Past the fence that marked the boundary of the croft; over the rooftops of Northton, beyond the fertile machair and the lagoon and sands of Traigh an Taoibh Thuath, and out over the sea to the distant mountains that dotted the horizon.
The scene was ever changing: every day, ever hour, every minute, natures rhythms offered a different picture. South Westerlies driving the weather from our back; the spur of bright, yellow, sand expanding and contracting with the tide; mountains clear as a bell one instant lost in mist in another; the hazy sunshine of midday transforming into the gloaming of midnight.
For six days the television remained unplugged, books left unread, music set to silent, games unplayed, our view offering all the entertainment we needed.
And on the sixth and final day we became a part of the scene, before heading for the ferry, to Skye, and onwards to home.