Sometimes I’ll be chatting to someone and they’ll say exactly what I’ve been thinking but haven’t really put into words. And this was the case when I posted the above photo on Instagram last week and my friend Mattijs commented with: “It’s still a bit post-apocalyptic there, isn’t it?”
These photos are from late on Friday, and a walk to Gullane Point to mark the end of the week. We were longing to be outside and by the water, but while it was cooler after the heat of earlier in the week, the humidity was high, so we chose an easy walk for the lads – for Bracken in particular – and one where we were likely to find a breeze. Winding along the clifftop path, the sound of the waves is amplified. Every time we walk here this strikes me: it’s like a gentle roar, and it’s a sound that never fails to calm the senses.
It feels unusual to be writing ‘after the heat’ in a title, but these few photos are from Wednesday evening’s walk at Yellowcraig, and a walk that felt incredibly good after the few days of heat that preceded it. It was a relief to be here in the quietness and the openness of this space after three days of being tucked inside, blinds down, fans on, trying to stay cool. Having DM convos with friends about climate change. Just to be here, standing below this big sky after being cooped up in one room, grateful for the breeze.
There’s always been something special about this place after the rain. In the old days, before Storm Arwen, the woodland felt heavy with rainwater, each individual pine needle of each individual pine branch holding a droplet, together making millions and millions of droplets of water gently held aloft by this wood. I always admired the way the tree trunks were blackened by the rain. It gave this woodland a different hue, a different mood; quiet and still and heavy and beautiful.
I started this week, the first week of this new chapter, with a plan of blog posts, Instagram posts, and batches of photos to edit. But, as it turned out, my brain had other ideas. On Monday, an email popped in with a fantastic house, reminding me that on any other week of the last 20+ years I’d have been chasing it for this Sunday’s paper. Emailing the PR, getting the photos in, getting the contact details for the owners, chatting to the owners, writing the feature. Each step in the process feeling familiar and normal.
My previous post was titled Last Light at North Berwick, while this one edges just along the coast to the neighbouring beach with a last-light walk at Yellowcraig from Sunday evening. And, for readers who are on the subscriber list to this blog, this is a ‘hello again’ post. It’s been a while. I removed the subscriber list when I stopped writing about interiors here, but as I’ll be spending more time on the blog now (and I’ll explain why in a later post), I wanted to add the subscribe option again for anyone who’d like to follow along with these walks.