Moniack Mhor. Scotland’s creative writing centre.

http://jlt.net/?p=1555

 

My desk sat by a window. The window framed fields and hills and woods and snow-tipped mountains. Each time I glanced up everything had changed colour. The wind rattled the house and the resident pheasant called for its mate. This was where the land melted away and I entered another world. This was where time passed as fast as the clouds and the words flowed.

www.moniackmhor.org.uk