Here in the hills where the wild sheep grow, tended by rain soaked winds and sun kissed clouds, the grass grows impossibly green. It rolls in velvet folds across the low green lands, giving way to a thick plaid of golden frosted heather and bracken, as the earth rises to meet winters crumbling mountain stones. There is a line which runs all across the high slopes, above which the bare rock heads of the mountains peep through the soft coloured blanket of soil and plants. The bald grey and black of gabbro and basalt, running in frost shattered rivers of scree, towards the soft fertile pastures of the glens far below. On the highest peaks, soft wool clouds dust the cold stone mountain tops with icing sugar snow daily. The clouds drift through on the wings of wind which may have begun thousands of miles south among emerald Caribbean isles. We can only wonder what tales are whispered by the snow filled wind into the stone ears of the mountain peaks, and what the mountains say back to the passing breeze. What we do know for certain is that the wind brings the rain and the snow clouds, which water the thirsty grass, which feeds the hungry sheep, which grows the warm soft wool, which is knitted into gloves and jumpers to keep our soft bodies warm…..in the biting cold wind…….which brings the rain and clouds.
The photos are taken in Glen Brittle on the Isle of Skye, Scotland in response to this weeks WP challenge ‘landscape’.