Road to the Isles.

 

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Low cloud cloaks the tops of the hills. A stag rises above a ridge, stops, waits for the hinds to follow. Their bodies disappear into the landscape, all tan, ochre, red and earth. Suddenly they start, panic and flee across the heather. Soft rain, hard granite, the boulders defy all weathers up here. A lochan, a loch. The lonely train track across the moor. The hills darken and fade in the thickening smirr.

 

Oil on wood – 26 x 15 cm.

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