@roberthorrobin.bsky.social
The sun, distant but essential, lighting up the way.
May 4, 2025 at 6:39 PM
The sun, distant but essential, lighting up the way.
As we were climbing up and down Neptune's Staircase, a series of locks on the Caledonian Canal, we were caught in a shower of cherry blossom.
April 21, 2025 at 7:56 AM
As we were climbing up and down Neptune's Staircase, a series of locks on the Caledonian Canal, we were caught in a shower of cherry blossom.
At the end
In Uist, roads often fade into hills or meet the sea and stop leaving a quiet emptiness.
At Claddach Baleshare, where the road met the old crossing, Colin Mackenzie’s Reflections transforms this stillness, echoing the colours and textures of land, sea, and sky.
In Uist, roads often fade into hills or meet the sea and stop leaving a quiet emptiness.
At Claddach Baleshare, where the road met the old crossing, Colin Mackenzie’s Reflections transforms this stillness, echoing the colours and textures of land, sea, and sky.
April 17, 2025 at 5:19 PM
At the end
In Uist, roads often fade into hills or meet the sea and stop leaving a quiet emptiness.
At Claddach Baleshare, where the road met the old crossing, Colin Mackenzie’s Reflections transforms this stillness, echoing the colours and textures of land, sea, and sky.
In Uist, roads often fade into hills or meet the sea and stop leaving a quiet emptiness.
At Claddach Baleshare, where the road met the old crossing, Colin Mackenzie’s Reflections transforms this stillness, echoing the colours and textures of land, sea, and sky.
At Port A Bhaig
As the day drew to a close, I went down to the beach. In my bag were my camera and a book by Hemingway—left behind by my son before he set out on his adventures in South America. Unfortunately, I hadn't accounted for the tide.
the old man
and the sea in his shoes
spring tide
As the day drew to a close, I went down to the beach. In my bag were my camera and a book by Hemingway—left behind by my son before he set out on his adventures in South America. Unfortunately, I hadn't accounted for the tide.
the old man
and the sea in his shoes
spring tide
April 11, 2025 at 9:13 AM
At Port A Bhaig
As the day drew to a close, I went down to the beach. In my bag were my camera and a book by Hemingway—left behind by my son before he set out on his adventures in South America. Unfortunately, I hadn't accounted for the tide.
the old man
and the sea in his shoes
spring tide
As the day drew to a close, I went down to the beach. In my bag were my camera and a book by Hemingway—left behind by my son before he set out on his adventures in South America. Unfortunately, I hadn't accounted for the tide.
the old man
and the sea in his shoes
spring tide
The sail and blue knee of ‘The Unbroken Line’ a locally built Stewart clinker boat in the Grimsay Boat Museum, Ceann na h-Airigh, Uist.
pale blue
in the back of the boat shed
a flash of knee
pale blue
in the back of the boat shed
a flash of knee
April 10, 2025 at 5:58 PM
The sail and blue knee of ‘The Unbroken Line’ a locally built Stewart clinker boat in the Grimsay Boat Museum, Ceann na h-Airigh, Uist.
pale blue
in the back of the boat shed
a flash of knee
pale blue
in the back of the boat shed
a flash of knee
wind-flower-power
April 10, 2025 at 8:28 AM
wind-flower-power
after the storm
some of the erratics
turn in to sheep
some of the erratics
turn in to sheep
April 1, 2025 at 7:53 PM
after the storm
some of the erratics
turn in to sheep
some of the erratics
turn in to sheep
the Sound of Harris
if only I knew their songs
I could name the birds
if only I knew their songs
I could name the birds
March 31, 2025 at 4:21 PM
the Sound of Harris
if only I knew their songs
I could name the birds
if only I knew their songs
I could name the birds
On the walk to Cocoa Mountain, Durness.
on the fence
plastic flags flutter with the
fresh spring breeze.
on the fence
plastic flags flutter with the
fresh spring breeze.
March 23, 2025 at 5:41 PM
On the walk to Cocoa Mountain, Durness.
on the fence
plastic flags flutter with the
fresh spring breeze.
on the fence
plastic flags flutter with the
fresh spring breeze.
At Sango did a bright spark decide to muirburn in fierce wind? Rivers of fire rage on the hills. There’s the acrid taste of burnt heather and peat on the back of my throat. Now all I want is a dram of Highland Park:
smokey distillate
a thousand peat summers poured
into cold cut glass
#zuihitsu
smokey distillate
a thousand peat summers poured
into cold cut glass
#zuihitsu
March 21, 2025 at 7:23 PM
At Sango did a bright spark decide to muirburn in fierce wind? Rivers of fire rage on the hills. There’s the acrid taste of burnt heather and peat on the back of my throat. Now all I want is a dram of Highland Park:
smokey distillate
a thousand peat summers poured
into cold cut glass
#zuihitsu
smokey distillate
a thousand peat summers poured
into cold cut glass
#zuihitsu
We paused at Strathnaver to bother a Pictish stone; it paid us no mind as it stood silent in the graveyard.
Later we stepped into the church-turned-museum, to hear the sorrowful testimonies of those evicted in the clearances.
a quiet place
“you can still see the places
where towns used to be”
Later we stepped into the church-turned-museum, to hear the sorrowful testimonies of those evicted in the clearances.
a quiet place
“you can still see the places
where towns used to be”
March 21, 2025 at 7:04 AM
We paused at Strathnaver to bother a Pictish stone; it paid us no mind as it stood silent in the graveyard.
Later we stepped into the church-turned-museum, to hear the sorrowful testimonies of those evicted in the clearances.
a quiet place
“you can still see the places
where towns used to be”
Later we stepped into the church-turned-museum, to hear the sorrowful testimonies of those evicted in the clearances.
a quiet place
“you can still see the places
where towns used to be”
The sun shines through the cabin window as we cross over the Pentland Firth on the spring tide.
We walk up to the lounge, accompanied by a gentle swell, the rumble of diesel engines and the polite chink of cutlery.
safe harbour
after all those ups and downs
the smell of crabs
We walk up to the lounge, accompanied by a gentle swell, the rumble of diesel engines and the polite chink of cutlery.
safe harbour
after all those ups and downs
the smell of crabs
March 20, 2025 at 8:24 AM
The sun shines through the cabin window as we cross over the Pentland Firth on the spring tide.
We walk up to the lounge, accompanied by a gentle swell, the rumble of diesel engines and the polite chink of cutlery.
safe harbour
after all those ups and downs
the smell of crabs
We walk up to the lounge, accompanied by a gentle swell, the rumble of diesel engines and the polite chink of cutlery.
safe harbour
after all those ups and downs
the smell of crabs
Finished Tai-Chi in Kirkwall, then drove to Stromness, to spend the night on the Hamnavoe and sail off to Scrabster in the morning.
The town was quiet, not even the call of seagulls breaking the silence.
deep blue gives way
to a deeper darkness—
waiting for the tide.
The town was quiet, not even the call of seagulls breaking the silence.
deep blue gives way
to a deeper darkness—
waiting for the tide.
March 19, 2025 at 10:49 PM
Finished Tai-Chi in Kirkwall, then drove to Stromness, to spend the night on the Hamnavoe and sail off to Scrabster in the morning.
The town was quiet, not even the call of seagulls breaking the silence.
deep blue gives way
to a deeper darkness—
waiting for the tide.
The town was quiet, not even the call of seagulls breaking the silence.
deep blue gives way
to a deeper darkness—
waiting for the tide.