Tamsyn Ball

Based in the lovely Lothians of Scotland I walk, forage and write, inspired by the land and always deepening my connection with the Earth, and hoping to inspire it in others, either through foraged creations or through writing.

Diary 2023

I made my way out the door and along the front of the house, where I turned to face out to the harbour. It was dark, sloe-black and starless. The outline of the valley loomed above, blacker than the sky, and the distant lights of the cottages glinted unnaturally on its vast sides. It was the wind that snared my attention, stopping my thoughts in their usual tracks. I opened my hands and stretched out my fingers. Roaring over the harbour walls I was miniscule in its path and yet it was soft and caressing on my palms. It played games with my hair and nipped at my ears, then engulfed me. For an infinite moment I was the wind, I had dissolved into atoms, and sea-salt-drenched, run with it over the cliffs, trailing invisible fingers through Heather and Sea Pinks as we sped onwards, racing a hare, swaying gulls in flight, plucking loose leaves, rattling roof tiles and whispering to trees. I was incandescently insignificant yet part of everything, part of the whole. And then it passed as quickly as it had come and my skin was once again feeling the biting cold and longing for the warm fireside I had left only moments ago.