Glorious early autumn morning here at Strathnuin. Stags are roaring on the hill and from high overhead comes the haunting sound of pinkfooted geese arriving from the north. I think the swallows and martins may finally have departed and it’s probably only a matter of days before the high tops are covered with a frosting of white.
For those of you poor folks who don’t inhabit the Highlands you might like a translation of Strathnuin. A strath is a wide, shallow valley and nuin is the Gaelic name for the ash tree.