Old skills...

Just now I walked round to the back of the dwelling, where we face the north Atlantic, wild and winsome. The wind has eased some and air is sweet.

A man, my neighbour, outlined against ocean, sands and sky, cutting hay with a scythe, rhythmic strokes in a long long tradition and skill.

As it has been for centuries here... a memory to be cherished.

His brother alongside, and the two collies racing among the cattle.

Still windy and all moncchrome.. grey and sand and hay the shades. All movement, steady and rippled against the ruffled ocean .