The Year Moves On

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.

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