Journal
A welcoming and warmly lit workshop for that most brilliantly baffling of machines: the human dynamic. Dispatches from the front lines of psychology, and from journeys along the liminal edge.
Clava Cairns
To come to Clava late is to come to it at the right time. The day has begun its long exhale, and the light, now thick and golden as mead, slants low across the Nairn valley. This is the gloaming, the edge-land…
ReadCrawick Multiverse
The rain has ceased, but its memory clings to the air. It is a morning of bright clearances, the sun finding apertures in the fast-moving cloud, casting down sudden, intense beams that turn the wet grass to a…
ReadDipper, Allt Na Bruadar
The light arrives early in the far north-west, and on this May morning it spills over the quartz-veined shoulders of the hills to pour itself into the Allt na Bruadar. The Burn of the Dream. It is a good name…
ReadDuncansby Stacks
To walk the cliff-edge at Duncansby before the world wakes is to feel the land dissolve. It is a midsummer morning, but the sun is a rumour, a lost pearl somewhere above the haar. This sea-mist, which breathes…
ReadDunino Den
To descend into Dunino Den on a breathless July afternoon is to undergo a vertical migration through time. Behind the quiet geometry of the parish church in Fife, the world suddenly fractures. One leaves the…
ReadEas Chia-Aig
There are places where the land folds in on itself, where light and sound behave differently. The Dark Mile, the Ciaran Pass, is one such place. To walk here is to enter a crease in the world, a shadowed…
ReadEcclesgreig House
The path to the gardens of Ecclesgreig House is a slow descent, a slip-road into a different quality of time. On a summer’s morning, the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the low thrum of bees. But…
ReadElie Ness
The air had that thundery quality, a strange, pressurised stillness that stills the birds and thickens the light. Over the Firth of Forth, the sky was a bruise of pewter and violet, and the water beneath it…
ReadFalls of Acharn
To walk the rising path above the village of Acharn on a May morning is to move through a landscape in a state of exuberant overflow. After a week of relentless Atlantic rain, the earth is saturated, its pores…
ReadFalls of Bruar
You hear the water long before you see it. It is a rumour in the air, a vibration that travels through the soles of your boots and up into the bones of your legs. On a day of summer spate, after a week of rain…
ReadFortingall Yew
We came to it in the honey-slow light of a late summer afternoon, when the sun had lost its midday ferocity and slanted long and gold across the glen. The air in Fortingall itself felt ancient, held in the cup…
ReadHigh Force
The air on the path down is thick with ghost-water, with the atomised breath of the Tees. It is an afternoon in late October and the world is dissolving. Mist clings to the sessile oaks and the birches, muting…
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