Isle of Soay, Inner Hebrides, Scotland.
The splat, suck and splash of welly boots in saturated sphagnum. The tremulous tweeting of little springtime birds. Rhythmic seaside sound of oystercatchers across a mirror of ice-blue sea. Quiet munching of sheep tearing up short, blonde winter grass.
Frogspawn in jellied lumps on the track, daring the drying puddles to remain in Easter's sunshine. Rusted tin on the sheep shed and tumbling walls losing themselves under years of cushioning moss. Gnarled birch and rowan, not yet budding into bloom. Gently rippled water of dark, secret lochs.
A sky of wisps and swathes above mountains cradling the last creases of snow. Bones and dead, brown crisps of bracken. Dry rustle of grass and crunch of heather, ghosts of last year's bells now a faint colour of parchment. The dark indigo peaks of Rhum embedded in white cotton wool. Patterned rocks, layered with lichen.
Around the coast, salt sea breeze mingles with warm mossy wetness. Silver sea into blinding sunshine. Sienna, ochre, silver, blue.