Closeburn near Thornhill this time. Former parish church re-built 1741 including the remains of its predecessor and in use until 1878. Norman fragments remain. A 10th century cross-shaft and grave slabs of similar date have been found.
The ruins of an 18th century Kirk built on the remains of a medieval one.
Between the Waves We are drawn to the sea, Where the tide never fails, When the water is clear And the cold winds are tamed. Let there be no more storms, Nor a shift in the sands. Let us pause for a while, Let us swim in the calm
FOREST COTTAGE The forest is winning again, in its own relentless way. It is pulling this old cottage back into its deeper self, reclaiming this precious space, slowly restoring the balance. It is nature that is cracking these walls, its weighty growth that his broken through the roof. But, there is no real death here, there is only life that can no longer be held at bay. You arrived here by chance, now take the time to look around. Touch new leaves, smell wild flowers, feel the air, fresh from the forest. Take your leave in your own good time, there is no need to close the gate.
RUIN Light does not stray here anymore, It passes through these broken walls. Sounds do not echo anymore, There is no roof to hold them in. The scents of life have gone from here, Decay grabs my every breath. I touch the walls, but they are cold, The hearth has left them long ago. Yet, still my shadow flickers through To signal that life carries on. My feet still rap on the stone floor, Like the heartbeat of the world out there. And carried here on a brief wind, The smell of the forest ghosts by. On the window sill, a flower grows, I reach out, touch it, then let it go.
Yesterday, I posted snow pictures during the summer solstice!!😱. Today I’m posting summer flowers to make up for it. 🤗💐 As long as you don’t ask me what they are!
Taken whilst cycling down a local country lane. what a beautiful wee part of the world this is! 🤗🏴
Still Waater Thirs nithin a can dae, tae stop the way the river rins. It’ll fin the sea, nae metter hoo much a wush it wid bide a wee. Aw rivers’ rise an faa, it’s jist the wey it is. Today The Nith is calm, a’ll stan a while an savour, whit a can chynge, whit a cannae.
The ruins of Polmaddy, a traditional Galloway ferm-toun (farming village), can still be seen in a clearing of Castlemaddy Wood (just of the A713 nr Carsphairn). Changes in farming in the 18th and 19th centuries led to the abandonment of many such small farm villages in the area. The earliest reference to Polmaddy was in the 16th centur
Absences If words have ghosts, they are wandering these fields, whispering of an absent town and lives that could last no longer. If names have hearts, Polmaddy's has been broken by the bitterest cut of all. It lost its reason to be. If stones have souls, then let these ones rest in peace. They had their time, let them settle into the earth of their story
Polmaddy Polmaddy, stones in an open field, Braille for a low sun’s fingers, waiting For the light to trace it’s pages. There’s the pack road, almost rubbed out, And there, the inn, the house of stories. That thin line, the mill race where water flowed To turn the wheel that fed them all. Two houses side by side, to share Warmth and the gossip of the day. Here and there, clearance cairns, where fields Were opened and furrows written. Now the sun goes down, closing The covers on another day, leaving Only silence and words in the dark.
Winter, Castle Loch, Lochmaben There is a beauty In the cold, In the white loch, In the sparkle of winter. This is a time When all stops, All holds its breath, Water is held still. Here is a moment To pause for a while, And then to listen To nothing… .. nothing at all.