Warm air, probably the last of the year is washing round me as my booted feet dip into the soggy peat. Sheep concerned for their futures want to run this way and that - but can't. I smell the distinctive smell of Golden Virginia on the air intermingled with the acrid aroma of sheep dip. I look up into the blinding sun, see shapes, raise the camera and shoot.
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.