shades of blue at Yellowcraig

Yellowcraig, 16 June

It’s week two of a new writing habit, and I’ve already fallen behind my schedule, but it’s been a tricky week – nothing I want to get into here, but it’s been a hard one to find a clear headspace.

And it’s been a hot week. Our news feeds have been filled with weather warnings, and while Scotland isn’t experiencing the intense temperatures that are currently happening further south, far less those across parts of Europe, it’s been a bit too hot for us. We’re cold weather people. Plus, it’s warmer inside our home than it is outside our home, as is always the case over these summer months. Last year we said: this is the last summer that we’ll be living here. We are longing to move and to be away from a town environment and the too-close proximity to people, and perhaps to find a home that doesn’t overheat in summer and become a fridge in winter, but a combination of life and work and money things have kept getting in the way.

In writing here more regularly I’m also hoping to change the way that I share photos. I’ve got into the habit of editing photos for stories on TWATH, sharing those stories, and then looking back on the photos a few days later and thinking: I’ll just re-edit these before I share them properly – as in, on the grid, or here. Only I don’t, and six months later I’m scrolling through Lightroom thinking: why didn’t I share all these images?

So now I want to edit and share. A little less over-thinking please.

Which brings me to these images of Fidra and Yellowcraig. As you’ll know if you follow on Instagram, I’m obsessed with the skies here, from the moodiest blues to the sunsets glowing across the island. These moments are from a late walk on Tuesday night last week, and the coolness of these scenes feels like a balm after an uncomfortably hot few days.

We arrived on the beach to find this brooding sky, the blues offsetting the muddy green hues of the seaweed-covered rocks, and with this faint line of pink hovering just below the distant cloud-line. There was also a slight haar far out over the Forth, a fine strip of mist hanging over the water as it if it had been brushed into place. The sea was quiet and the air was unexpectedly still, and you could sense the rain coming.

We navigated a few people when we arrived on the beach, Oak being watchful, mindful of Raf’s loud response to humans, but we quickly moved past and the beach beyond was empty. Empty and wide, as the tide was very low, so we walked along the shore, Raf and Oak splashing across the grooved and rippled sand that had been filled by the receding tide. We kept looking around for people, expecting someone to appear from the dunes, but no one did – at least not until we were walking back.

And what a gift on a Tuesday night, after a day standing at my desk, to be walking below this vast sky and the cloud reflections along the shore, watching Raf and Oak following scent trails, engrossed in their own adventures.

Yellowcraig. East Lothian, 16 June 2026