Tromsdalen & Losna (Winter)

A small shack – unused in decades – stood here, shaking under a barrage of wind and hail; door barely hanging on by its friable, rust devoured hinges; charged with the reek of leaf mould and rotting hare.

So moved by the desolation I vowed to spend my retirement eking out a living in the renovated bothy, content beneath my hanging valley, to watch the nearby island county shine in winter duskfall.