January at Moniack – Life Unseen

Kit in the garden at Moniack Mhor

It is winter and all seems dead. The slow seep of colour has left us with hills swept in elephantine greys. Each ornate, heavyweight night drags its tail far into what daylight remains. All, in this gloom, seems dead.
But from within we watch, we wait, look closer. We have weathered this before.

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