The Wildscape Blog

This Sunday morning begins with a fragile promise. As I make my coffee, I glance out into the garden—dry, mild, quietly inviting beneath a soft quilt of cloud. For a brief moment, the day feels generous, as though it is offering us safe passage. But by the time the mug is empty, the familiar transformation has already taken place. Rain returns, unannounced yet expected, settling back into the land with calm authority. At this time of year, mild air and rain move together, inseparable companions drifting steadily through the season.

Sunday returns with its familiar promise of adventure—a single, precious day carved out for wandering, after six straight days of work and routine. It is meant to be a day for the hills, for high places and long views. But one glance outside tells me the weather has other ideas. Rain lashes the windows with fierce determination, and the horizon dissolves into a long, unbroken smear of grey. The world looks as though it has been washed of colour overnight.