The difference could hardly have been starker; on my local river in Strathdevon moorhens are the shyest of birds, lurking close beside the lush bankside margins and disappearing like magic at the first whiff of an approaching person.
The buzzard sitting in the grassy field ducked its head, then ducked again, as a procession of red kites swooped down upon it, one after another as if in concerted attack.
Down by the river there is a fallen beech tree of such massive girth that it must have made a most striking impression upon the landscape before it tumbled to the ground a couple of decades or so ago.
Sunshine, showers and a rainbow arching over Strathmiglo; a picture perfect reflection of a Scottish autumn as we sat on the summit of West Lomond following a leisurely hike up from Holl reservoir near Leslie.
Brambles, haws and elderberries, a verge-side scattering of scarlet and black fruits hanging heavy on bushes and forming a bountiful larder along this narrow lane in Strathdevon.
Mist swirling over the treetops of Rannoch Forest and the drizzle pit-pattering on my cap, making it a day to cast the eyes downwards as I seek out late summer flowers by this Perthshire track edge.
I’m sitting in the garden at dusk, the damp air hanging heavy from recent rain. A bat twirls by the leafy fringes of a sycamore, repeatedly sweeping towards the foliage before fluttering out again as it hunts for flying insects.
A light pale fluttering of under-wings in the oak canopy above me – a small butterfly, but of a type unknown to me, flying purposefully through the branches, turning for a moment to reveal darker top-wings before disappearing into the foliage.
Kennoway Den, Fife
I came with high hopes but was ultimately shocked when I reached the wide curve of the river and saw for the first time the long sandy cut by the far edge of the water.