At Little Loch Broom, the clouds quite literally roll in to let the light fall in stripes over the iron hills, so ancient and half-asleep they don’t even notice any more.
At Gairloch, the bracken has died but not before showing its true colour of rust.
The bare rocks that protrude slate grey are the worn down teeth of primordial giants, megaliths that did battle through the Scotch mists of time.
At the Assynt, the peaks have given in to solitude. When the sun occasions to shine on them, they espy one another from afar. They talk in ancient riddles across the glen but of what we still haven’t deciphered.
The leaf that refuses to yield long after the rain has turned to snow.
A great dane would be a fitting side show if he wasn’t so central to the nightlife of Pai, north Thailand. The dog, seen here with his white-haired owner, put in a command performance in the cause of receiving doggie treats. After wooing the crowds, the big fella trotted off none the wiser that he had become the local celebrity.