Laine Thompson
@marlinhoister.bsky.social
The sailor cannot see the North but knows the needle can.
Full time carer for someone with LongCovid. Mostly photographs and thoughts connected to my immediate landscape in the ever decreasing circles of my life.
Full time carer for someone with LongCovid. Mostly photographs and thoughts connected to my immediate landscape in the ever decreasing circles of my life.
Pinned
“And what will the robin do then, poor thing…”
November 19, 2025 at 10:36 AM
“And what will the robin do then, poor thing…”
In October the trees glowed yellow. November came, they gleamed copper, then the winds blew and stripped them bare. The clouds have spilt rain and hail, sleet and snow. The restless notes of a winter song. In between this melancholic rhythm we wander the lanes still mesmerised by trees.
November 19, 2025 at 9:46 AM
In October the trees glowed yellow. November came, they gleamed copper, then the winds blew and stripped them bare. The clouds have spilt rain and hail, sleet and snow. The restless notes of a winter song. In between this melancholic rhythm we wander the lanes still mesmerised by trees.
Is there snow in those clouds? Hello winter.
November 18, 2025 at 8:17 PM
Is there snow in those clouds? Hello winter.
New found comfort zone to enjoy. Just in front of the patio doors so she can keep watch on the garden as well as indoors lol.
November 18, 2025 at 9:48 AM
New found comfort zone to enjoy. Just in front of the patio doors so she can keep watch on the garden as well as indoors lol.
Good morning 🌅
Calm after the recent storms. I couldn’t see them but I could hear the curlews calling.
Calm after the recent storms. I couldn’t see them but I could hear the curlews calling.
November 18, 2025 at 6:55 AM
Good morning 🌅
Calm after the recent storms. I couldn’t see them but I could hear the curlews calling.
Calm after the recent storms. I couldn’t see them but I could hear the curlews calling.
“Halfway up the stairs is the stair where I sit. There isn’t any other stair quite like it.”
Actually she’s sometimes at the bottom and sometimes at the top.
One young dog has decided she quite likes the cool quiet of the stairwell.
Actually she’s sometimes at the bottom and sometimes at the top.
One young dog has decided she quite likes the cool quiet of the stairwell.
November 17, 2025 at 9:43 AM
“Halfway up the stairs is the stair where I sit. There isn’t any other stair quite like it.”
Actually she’s sometimes at the bottom and sometimes at the top.
One young dog has decided she quite likes the cool quiet of the stairwell.
Actually she’s sometimes at the bottom and sometimes at the top.
One young dog has decided she quite likes the cool quiet of the stairwell.
The beacon unlids its eye. A green pulse, a blade of emerald light,
shearing damp air. A swift cut across the wet skin of the pier, gleaming on concrete, catching nails and knots in a sudden, liquid gloss. It etches a path over dark waters, a momentary road to the distant, dreaming shore.
shearing damp air. A swift cut across the wet skin of the pier, gleaming on concrete, catching nails and knots in a sudden, liquid gloss. It etches a path over dark waters, a momentary road to the distant, dreaming shore.
November 17, 2025 at 9:35 AM
The beacon unlids its eye. A green pulse, a blade of emerald light,
shearing damp air. A swift cut across the wet skin of the pier, gleaming on concrete, catching nails and knots in a sudden, liquid gloss. It etches a path over dark waters, a momentary road to the distant, dreaming shore.
shearing damp air. A swift cut across the wet skin of the pier, gleaming on concrete, catching nails and knots in a sudden, liquid gloss. It etches a path over dark waters, a momentary road to the distant, dreaming shore.
Wind and rain. Again.
This is the arrival of the Christmas Tree for the town square. The lorry had just pulled up alongside me to get his bearings. I can only blame the strong winds for the result. 🤷🏻♀️
This is the arrival of the Christmas Tree for the town square. The lorry had just pulled up alongside me to get his bearings. I can only blame the strong winds for the result. 🤷🏻♀️
November 17, 2025 at 6:33 AM
Wind and rain. Again.
This is the arrival of the Christmas Tree for the town square. The lorry had just pulled up alongside me to get his bearings. I can only blame the strong winds for the result. 🤷🏻♀️
This is the arrival of the Christmas Tree for the town square. The lorry had just pulled up alongside me to get his bearings. I can only blame the strong winds for the result. 🤷🏻♀️
Good morning 🌅
November 17, 2025 at 6:30 AM
Good morning 🌅
Reposted by Laine Thompson
I reviewed a book that made a huge impression on me when I was a little girl;
'The Luttrell village', by Sheila Sancha (1982)
Read it here;
fakehistoryhunter.net/2025/11/17/b...
Or here;
fakehistoryhunter.substack.com/p/book-revie...
'The Luttrell village', by Sheila Sancha (1982)
Read it here;
fakehistoryhunter.net/2025/11/17/b...
Or here;
fakehistoryhunter.substack.com/p/book-revie...
Book review: ‘The Luttrell village’, by Sheila Sancha (1982)
When I was a little girl someone got me this book and it made a huge impression on me. It showed daily life in a little village based on one of the loveliest Medieval manuscripts ever; the Luttrell…
fakehistoryhunter.net
November 17, 2025 at 3:32 AM
I reviewed a book that made a huge impression on me when I was a little girl;
'The Luttrell village', by Sheila Sancha (1982)
Read it here;
fakehistoryhunter.net/2025/11/17/b...
Or here;
fakehistoryhunter.substack.com/p/book-revie...
'The Luttrell village', by Sheila Sancha (1982)
Read it here;
fakehistoryhunter.net/2025/11/17/b...
Or here;
fakehistoryhunter.substack.com/p/book-revie...
“Lost, on a painted sky, where the clouds are hung for the poets eye…”
Not Jonathan Livingstone Seagull but Oysten Oystercatcher.
Not Jonathan Livingstone Seagull but Oysten Oystercatcher.
November 16, 2025 at 9:36 AM
“Lost, on a painted sky, where the clouds are hung for the poets eye…”
Not Jonathan Livingstone Seagull but Oysten Oystercatcher.
Not Jonathan Livingstone Seagull but Oysten Oystercatcher.
Reposted by Laine Thompson
I wrote about this decommissioned lighthouse for the 11th edition of Science & Magic, the Violette newsletter. You can read it here along with my previous Magnetic North missives and you can subscribe. Chock full of delights!
www.violetterecords.com/science-and-...
www.violetterecords.com/science-and-...
October 31, 2025 at 8:13 AM
I wrote about this decommissioned lighthouse for the 11th edition of Science & Magic, the Violette newsletter. You can read it here along with my previous Magnetic North missives and you can subscribe. Chock full of delights!
www.violetterecords.com/science-and-...
www.violetterecords.com/science-and-...
Reposted by Laine Thompson
There's a hope in this beauty that seems particularly appropriate today 💚
Here’s Karine Polwart singing Hamish Henderson’s “Freedom Come-All-Ye” in the Italian Chapel, Orkney. The chapel was built & decorated by Italian POWs during WW2 using scraps & reclaimed materials, & is still in use today
www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Phu...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Phu...
“Freedom Come All Ye” performed by Karine Polwart in The Italian Chapel, Orkney, August 2013.
YouTube video by Alan Ferrier
www.youtube.com
November 5, 2025 at 11:25 AM
There's a hope in this beauty that seems particularly appropriate today 💚
Reposted by Laine Thompson
November 16, 2025 at 7:53 AM
Reposted by Laine Thompson
“Stand at the lighthouse where the land runs out. Feel the Atlantic wind unspool across your skin.”
What does the breath of this place teach you about your own?
www.rkphotographic.com/blog/2025/11/spiorad-ird-nam-murchan--elemental-iii-air
#AtlanticEdge #BigSkies #ElementalSeries
What does the breath of this place teach you about your own?
www.rkphotographic.com/blog/2025/11/spiorad-ird-nam-murchan--elemental-iii-air
#AtlanticEdge #BigSkies #ElementalSeries
November 16, 2025 at 8:24 AM
“Stand at the lighthouse where the land runs out. Feel the Atlantic wind unspool across your skin.”
What does the breath of this place teach you about your own?
www.rkphotographic.com/blog/2025/11/spiorad-ird-nam-murchan--elemental-iii-air
#AtlanticEdge #BigSkies #ElementalSeries
What does the breath of this place teach you about your own?
www.rkphotographic.com/blog/2025/11/spiorad-ird-nam-murchan--elemental-iii-air
#AtlanticEdge #BigSkies #ElementalSeries
A lifted leg stream
On dark textured brick, bold strokes
Urbane canine
On dark textured brick, bold strokes
Urbane canine
November 16, 2025 at 7:29 AM
A lifted leg stream
On dark textured brick, bold strokes
Urbane canine
On dark textured brick, bold strokes
Urbane canine
Good morning 🌅
November 16, 2025 at 7:12 AM
Good morning 🌅
Feels like a self-portrait…
“You must have been tired,” said Toad.
“I was tired,” said Frog, “and it started to rain.”
“I was tired,” said Frog, “and it started to rain.”
November 15, 2025 at 7:28 PM
Feels like a self-portrait…
Low tide, the sand a sheet of damp silk, a mirror for bruised clouds. Rain blurs the line where sea meets sky. The houses are softened by the weather, windows glowing with a promise of warmth in the wet and wind. The world is reduced to this:
water, air, stone, and a distant, patient glow.
water, air, stone, and a distant, patient glow.
November 15, 2025 at 10:39 AM
Low tide, the sand a sheet of damp silk, a mirror for bruised clouds. Rain blurs the line where sea meets sky. The houses are softened by the weather, windows glowing with a promise of warmth in the wet and wind. The world is reduced to this:
water, air, stone, and a distant, patient glow.
water, air, stone, and a distant, patient glow.
Good morning 🌅
Still singing hey ho for the wind and the rain. Forgot my phone this morning but thought a brighter start from a few days ago might just uplift the spirits a little. 🙂
Still singing hey ho for the wind and the rain. Forgot my phone this morning but thought a brighter start from a few days ago might just uplift the spirits a little. 🙂
November 15, 2025 at 6:48 AM
Good morning 🌅
Still singing hey ho for the wind and the rain. Forgot my phone this morning but thought a brighter start from a few days ago might just uplift the spirits a little. 🙂
Still singing hey ho for the wind and the rain. Forgot my phone this morning but thought a brighter start from a few days ago might just uplift the spirits a little. 🙂
This.
“I know what worries me most when I look in the mirror and see the old woman with no waist. It’s not that I’ve lost my beauty — I never had enough to carry on about. It’s that that woman doesn’t look like me. She isn’t who I thought I was.”
“I know what worries me most when I look in the mirror and see the old woman with no waist. It’s not that I’ve lost my beauty — I never had enough to carry on about. It’s that that woman doesn’t look like me. She isn’t who I thought I was.”
Ursula K. Le Guin's classic on growing old and what beauty really means www.themarginalian.org/2014/10/21/u...
Ursula K. Le Guin on Growing Older and What Beauty Really Means
“There are a whole lot of ways to be perfect, and not one of them is attained through punishment.”
www.themarginalian.org
November 15, 2025 at 4:37 AM
This.
“I know what worries me most when I look in the mirror and see the old woman with no waist. It’s not that I’ve lost my beauty — I never had enough to carry on about. It’s that that woman doesn’t look like me. She isn’t who I thought I was.”
“I know what worries me most when I look in the mirror and see the old woman with no waist. It’s not that I’ve lost my beauty — I never had enough to carry on about. It’s that that woman doesn’t look like me. She isn’t who I thought I was.”
The sheen of rain. The fall of sky. The grinding down of wood and iron. The earth shifts, the air you inhale seems to just slip away. Colourblind as day shifts into night we are still held in the way that beauty bends the light.
November 14, 2025 at 3:50 PM
The sheen of rain. The fall of sky. The grinding down of wood and iron. The earth shifts, the air you inhale seems to just slip away. Colourblind as day shifts into night we are still held in the way that beauty bends the light.
Wonderful illustrations. And whisked me away to my student days when often at night I would slip out on my motorbike along silent Lakeland lanes under starlit skies to breathe in the wonder.
Midnight Motorbike – a lullaby of wonder for the sleepless, inspired by the whimsy of South India www.themarginalian.org/2025/11/13/m...
Midnight Motorbike: A Lullaby of Wonder for the Sleepless, Inspired by the Whimsy of South India
You know that moment late into the night when the body, famished for rest, is kidnapped from the land of sleep by a mind aflame with rumination, paging through the ledger of regrets — the mes…
www.themarginalian.org
November 14, 2025 at 6:54 AM
Wonderful illustrations. And whisked me away to my student days when often at night I would slip out on my motorbike along silent Lakeland lanes under starlit skies to breathe in the wonder.