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As if faith itself has been orchestrating it all along, the paths converge, and you find yourself standing among those who share an unspoken understanding, as if by some cosmic design. The faces around you bear that quiet, knowing look, eyes as deep as the sea, hands reaching as if they could draw the ocean…
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It’s been six weeks now that I’m back on the Orkney Islands, and I feel the troubled waters of settling in all over again. I’ve had some wins but also a few losses that ripple quietly as if the peace I brought with me was only a tentative guest slipping away too soon. I tell myself…
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It’s funny since I’ve returned; you’ve crossed my path a few times, and every time, it feels like a size-magic shock runs through me. Like there’s something more at play, something otherworldly. The silence between us, it silences new experiences we could share as if fate itself is holding its breath, waiting for a word…
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It’s been two weeks since I found myself back on the Orkney Islands and the land, in its quiet, untamed way, has begun to speak to me again. The winds, the waves, they seem to carry insight into the journey I’ve been on, not just across seas, but through the inner wilds of my own mind. Coming…
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Just a few days ago, I set foot again on the Orkney Islands, and this time, something feels different. There’s a lightness in simply going with the flow, a new rhythm that I’ve come to trust as I learn to live with this new version of myself, the one who smiles again, who dances quietly…
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I left Orkney at the end of July. My heart was heavy, weighed down by the land and the ties I’d made. Yet, as if the island itself was reluctant to release me, something strange happened. As I stood at the ferry terminal, something weird happened my booking, without warning, was cancelled and rebooked for…
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The land before me breathes its final sigh of summer, caught between what was and what is to come. The leaves, not yet fully turned, whisper the promise of change, as though the very earth is pausing to acknowledge both an ending and a beginning. The days shorten, slowly, slipping toward autumn, yet I cannot…
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Pulled through the mist of time, unwritten pages of my time in Orkney laid open from the book like the slow turn of a tide pulling something long forgotten to shore. In an afternoon storm, I hear a whisper in the wind that seems to know my name. It comes from the land of standing…
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Coming to terms with my own codependency and addiction feels like pulling a splinter from under my nail. I had forgotten how painful it was, how numb I had become to the constant ache. But now, as I start to pull it out, every memory, every feeling, and every emotion trapped in that tiny sliver…
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It is a distant mist where I once roamed; I never found a home.Now, the hills and sea are only a memory.Yet the girl who walks among them and saw me is still in my mind’s prison and my heart’s fire, burning with the longing for her presence. In my memory, her laughter is an…
Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens 