This time of year we gather the quiet.
The frenzy of life of summer life at 44˚N has subsided and the coast settles into winter.
In winter we can better see the skeleton – or skeletons – of the land and the communities. And the quiet of it all….often the most welcome seasonal gift.
And that’s what I remember so well about this midday. It was so absolutely silent. Only a rhythmic hiss of the water licking the fresh snow on the island beach. Otherwise, a perfect silence.
I experience a great sense of privilege when out on the boat or walking around on islands in the winter. I feel as though the whole coast is mine. No other boats...nothing.
The absolute finest kind of time for creative trespass. And secrets.