Depth of field

Walls and windows, that what I spend my days looking at.

In offices, in the flat, in the car or in a bar.

Walls and windows. A cage we all build for ourselves, a means to and end to make money, feed the family, get to our destinations, share our time together.

Walls and windows though, are grinding me down. I need to break the bars of the cage.


Torridon. The name alone opens the lock. That mythical mountain nirvana in Northwest Scotland with Skye on one horizon and Assynt on another. Defiant battleships sailing across Lewishian Gneiss. Sandstone castles built and shaped by billions of years of geological play time and meteoric calamity.

Drive north, drive some more and reach the end the world in Wester Ross. Badachro with its few homes, 1 pub and a handful of B&B’s.

57° North and as far WNW as you can get in the UK and nothing but coastline, mountains, lochs and the expansive unfathomable North Atlantic.

No walls and windows. Instead summit ringed horizons and skies morphing into waves.


The cage door is completely open. The depth of field is infinite. The air clear , the sounds of nature instead of phones ringing, airport announcements and constant cantankerous soul sapping traffic.

.Sumitting in the wind. Drinking from the burn. Walking in the sand. Dozing in the sun

Time slows. Warmth flows. Heart grows. Tension goes.

Torridon. I can take walls and windows for days like these.


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