Seasons

Davina reveled in the sensation of the sun warming her face and the wind teasing her hair. According to the calendar, summer had taken wing. Perhaps the two of them might hold it captive a bit longer.

~ Grace in Thine Eyes

’Twas the last day of October—Hallowmas Eve—yet the skies did not portend anything frichtsome. The air was crisp, the horizon clear. Autumn’s colors had faded on the hills.

~ Whence Came a Prince

Oh, the colors! And the mist on the moors, and the cry of a golden plover echoing across the silent hills.

~ My Heart’s in the Lowlands

The trees are at that lovely transitional stage: half covered with the green leaves of summer, the other half surrendering to autumn, draping each tree with color, like fringe on a shawl.

~ My Heart’s in the Lowlands

The rising mist softened the bright colors of the oak leaves, creating a muted blend of burnt orange, golden yellow, and pale brown.

~ Fair Is the Rose

Dawn approaches slowly and arrives with damp feet. Mist, fog, even frost may cling to the ground. Sometimes the mist is alive, swirling and crawling over the land, and other times it’s as still as a sleeping cat.

~ My Heart’s in the Lowlands

Autumn visits yield the best photos: not sunny and bright, but gray and misty. Photos that actually look like Scotland instead of like postcards.

~ My Heart’s in the Lowlands