Sometimes the simplest days turn out to be the most magical, no plans, just the ease of the moment. After a delicious meal, we let the evening settle in, listening to gentle music and enjoying the outdoors as pipistrelles put on an aerial display, their delicate silhouettes darting through the dusk. Bonny wee bats indeed.

Then is was time to blow out the candles!

Looking for a summer read? not bought my new novel yet?

Order from Elven Glass and get 10% off my stained glass goods or original paintings.

Have a wee look, see anything you might like, drop me a message and I'll arrange a discount.

Tx

There’s no such thing as bad weather—only the wrong clothing.

The rain deepened every shade of green around us, making the landscape glow. Our boots and waterproof trousers gleamed with droplets from the long grass, but underneath, we stayed warm and dry.

There was no view at the top, just a blanket of low cloud above our heads, but the air was thick with the scent of blossoms, as if honey drifted through the mist.

Wonderful.

June, the month famous for 'seasonal shifts', brings the astronomical transition into summer in the northern hemisphere. Also, its name, Juno, is derived from the Roman goddess of marriage, so a highly popular time for weddings.
For us, it's a special month as we love Midsummer and we got engaged on Midsummer (many years ago now).

So it certainly is a month to reflect on love and enjoy continuing love.

Here today, it's dull and drizzling on the first day of the new month, but not letting that dampen spirits or cast shadows over happiness. Days like this are perfect for being at the workbench, enjoying long, lazy coffee breaks with my wonderful husband, sitting under the porch surrounded by the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, watching the low clouds and rain drift on a slow summer's breeze

Awake at six, kick-starting the day with fresh carrot and orange juice while prepping my bike for an early ride. Gentle clouds and a teasing drizzle dotted my glasses and dampened my shoulders, but the climb was worth every drop. At the top, savouring the view with hot, milky coffee and homemade breakfast bars. This week’s batch is laced with mixed nuts, fruit, lemon curd, and pistachio butter. Pure bliss.

Back home now, feeling energised and pleased with myself for getting up these hills again

I love being out in the hills, pushing myself on the mountain bike, making my way through dense, damp patches of undergrowth. At the moment, everything is growing and trying to secure its space. Sometimes a big dip in the path, hidden by the undergrowth, catches me unawares, and boof, I am off, another bruise to the bum. A wee slap in the face from the occasional tree branch, and always the exhilaration of the push-up. Apart from my occasional burst of heavy breathing on some higher ground, all around me is the excitement of bird song.

This morning, feeling pretty fit, I decided to take a higher route I hadn't taken for some months. The path was no more than a deer track, heavily overgrown but alive with succulent greens and an abundance of bright, honey-scented broom. Without warning, a Doe sprang up about a metre in front of me, darting off to the right, disappearing into the dense trees while a buck shot off to the left. I slammed on the brakes hard to avoid the most beautiful fawn sleeping in the long grass. As quickly and silently as I could, I turned and beat my own track back down the hill, although I wanted to stay and look at the fawn; it was not my place to interfere, but it brought a huge smile to my face and a feeling of delightful calm to have seen them.

Taking another route onwards until it was time to stop for breakfast, well earned it was too.
Here was my wee breakfast stop, before it was time to head back, before the clouds burnt off, and I am up here frying in the sunshine.

I love the heady scent of wild garlic drifting on the summer breeze as I cycle by, bluebells, and pink campion swaying alongside forget-me-nots. I never tire of the sound of a woodpecker tapping rhythmically in the trees. The sun is warm, but that crisp northern nip lingers in the air. Feeling happy and content.

The journey ended with a ride past the old castle on the outskirts of our village. The old romantic in me feels an Outlander moment come to life.

It was a surprisingly cold morning for this time of year, the sky shifting constantly with ever-changing clouds. Still, it felt wonderful to be back on the mountain bike. Cycling out of the village to the next one to cast my vote, then looping home through open fields along old drove roads now overgrown with grass. Meandering slowly through sheep with their bleating lambs, careful not to disturb them, though they only watched with their usual, steady gaze. Along the way, I came across this magnificent horse chestnut tree, ancient and towering. The closer I got, the louder the mysterious humming that seemed to pulse from within its trunk, and all around the full branches of bloom. For a moment, I nearly reached out to touch its gnarled, weathered trunk, half-expecting to be whisked back in time. ( Of course, the logic in me, knowing full well the tree was alive with bees).

It’s been a while since my last update, but all is well. I’ve been caught up in decorating, a task both rewarding and, admittedly, not my favourite. I’ve been mixing shades of olive, fresh white, and touches of knotted twine...though never all in the same room! Progress has been joyfully interrupted by stretches of warm, sunny weather, prompting me to swap the paintbrush for shorts, reading glasses, and a good book under the parasol, iced drink in hand. Dining alfresco has returned, accompanied by the incredible aerial displays of swallows, the gentle bleating of lambs, the hum of bumblebees, and the busy tapping of woodpeckers.

It's a tough life I have, but I carry on always with a smile.

The scent of damp grass drifts across the fields on a tranquil, sun-dappled morning. Sheep meander silently, while birdsong rings out in the stillness. 6.30 this morning was a perfect start to the day, watching sunlight climb over the treetops and feeling the gentle warmth spread. This month has been a busy one, each project completed bringing a quiet happiness and the joy of reflecting on my achievements.

March has been a month of gratitude. Watching Robert heal and grow stronger each day has been a constant source of joy. With April on the horizon, I look forward to more time outdoors, joining Robert in his rehabilitation and embracing new adventures together. After a challenging spell, it feels especially important to seek out the peace and energy nature offers, helping us stay grounded. In a world that often feels chaotic, holding onto a quiet corner of calm and contentment is more essential than ever. Farewell, March.

Another glorious morning unfolds as sunlight gently warms the dew-laden fields. Sheep meander lazily, a woodpecker taps rhythmically in the distance, and the air is alive with birdsong. Steam curls from our cups of tea while we snack on homemade cereal bites—this week's flavour is chocolate chips, dates, and mango. A lovely start to the day.

The weekend begins with a crisp, frosty morning, everything coated in white, the air biting and fresh. Sunlight pours from a clear blue sky, sending steam curling off the shed roof and making the dew-soaked grass glisten like diamonds. Out in the field, the sheep grow rounder each day, and soon the high, sweet bleats of new lambs will fill the air. It’s a beautiful time of year.

We now have three blackbird nests just outside the bedroom window. At 4 a.m., our own Pavarotti sang his heart out, filling the early darkness with song. By 6:20, I was up and climbing the hill for a morning walk. The sky was unremarkable, and even the sheep were quiet, yet the landscape still felt beautiful and serene. Heading back now, feeling invigorated, time for a well-earned cup of tea.

Happy March! As the old saying goes, "In like a lion, out like a lamb." March ushers in the dramatic shift from winter’s chill to the gentle promise of spring. We’re all looking forward to brighter days and the renewal that spring brings into our lives.

Whatever your new month brings, I hope it is full of love, happiness and giggles. Have a lovely Sunday, and a wonderful month ahead.

Much love to our friends and family.

A day to honour love, rooted in the martyrdom of Saint Valentine in ancient Rome and combined with pagan fertility festivals like Lupercalia, evolved into a cultural tradition of exchanging romantic tokens/gifts to express affection for partners, family, and friends.

Wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day. You know us, any excuse to chill the bubbles, light more candles, and enjoy an indulgent meal and belther the night away.

Outside, the world is frosty white beneath bright blue skies and sunshine. Perfect for writing a wee message outdoors.

Whatever your weekend brings, I hope you have sunshine, love and laughter on this winter's day.

Last night's Snow Moon lit up the dining room, so I just had to go for a wee wander to enjoy it, did not have my camera, so a quick snap on the phone... 'beam me up Scotty'...reminds me of watching said famous tv production and my Dad telling us that one day we will all have a device/mini computer in our pockets, just like Cpt Kirk.

That, of course, was back in the day when mobile phones were scarce and about the size of a house brick, battery power of four hours, and all it did was make a phone call...and we were still sharing phone lines with our neighbours, I guess today we would call that conference calling!!

February, the shortest month in our calendar, arrives on a whisper, with days short and sweet. A month associated with love, any excuse to celebrate loving.  I’ve always enjoyed this month, for me, it feels like a bridge spanning time over frozen streams, carrying us from frostbitten mornings toward the golden embrace of spring.

Welcome back, February, how swiftly you’ve circled round again. Stay a while, but when you go, please take the last of the frost and snow, leave us basking in early sunshine and cheer, as March is ever closer near.

I heard the first line of a song today—‘these are the days I will remember’—words that feel especially poignant as we wait for Robert’s operation. January sweeps past like an artist at work, each day a new canvas in the gallery of winter. Some mornings shimmer with sharp, dancing frost, the space around us dusted in diamonds scattered around like a luminous gown. On other days, a heavy blanket of grey, lifeless clouds smother the sky, holding back the hope of brighter days. Then come the rain-soaked stretches, storms wandering through and drenching winter’s canvas in deep, dreary shades of grey as teardrops tracing sorrowful paths down the windowpanes, like grief washing over a battlefield once the fight is done.

Then come days when sunlight spills across the sky, unfolding in golden embrace, whispering secrets of spring’s imminent return. The air turns buoyant, and easy conversation drifts like petals through the village, with talk of weather woven with the deftness of Scottish tradition. Warmth caresses our cheeks, and for a breathless moment, the world feels perfectly in tune.

We wait with quiet yearning as January’s days drift by, longing to be out, our bikes spinning high in the hills, time dissolving behind us. There, we would lose ourselves in the patchwork wilds, muscles alive with exertion, as we soak up the countryside’s quiet majesty. To see, to breathe, to listen, immersed in nature’s hidden rhythms, alive to the subtle transformations that each season brings.

So, yes, these are the days I will remember, and look forward to them being in the past as we live for the future in the present.

This morning, I stumbled upon a wee Haggis, its tiny form shivering, eyes wide with the loneliness of one who’s wandered far from home. Lost and forlorn, it whimpered softly until a gentle cuddle returned warmth to its trembling body. Together we climbed the hill, the earth soft and damp beneath our feet, in search of its kin. It was not long before we stumbled across a frantic search party of distressed Haggi. Their snorting, squeaking, and even weeing with delight brought a smile to my face, such a rare and wondrous sight, as my wee granny would often say, a sight as rare as hens teeth.   Their joyous reunion erupted into a gregarious, impromptu dance, a wild Scottish thank-you, and then as quickly as they appeared, they were gone, disappearing through the morning mist of low clouds.