I’d been looking at my Roberton walks booklet for a while, but today, Charlie gave me a lift and dropped me off outside Forman Hall on his way to work. From there, I set out to follow the footpaths along Borthwick Water, planning to make my way back to the farmhouse. Roberton's church, seemingly rarely open.
This shade of green comes from the glen in the Borthwick valley.
This bridge seemed safer than the one farther up the Borthwick Water, closer to Craik Forest.
These berries stand out, looking pale against the swirling grey waters of the Borthwick.
Dark clouds gathered above as the bright morning quickly faded.
Even harsh weather does not seem to bother the Cheviot sheep that graze here.
Wild mushrooms grew high on the hillside. I figured the badgers would eat them.
Someone started a fire at Park Hill Farm, but the wind carried the smoke away, which was kind of funny. I’m not sure what to think about Chisholme. Maybe that’s the point. After seeing how the world treats trauma and changes people’s spirituality until it’s hard to recognise, it makes sense.