Singing to the land

I have a thing about singing whenever I come across ruins of farmsteads or townships, to bring back voice and life, even if for two minutes. I've been doing this for several years without really realising; it just seems quite natural. 

Popped up to Rinanuan today, sang the Parting Glass. Watched the light move and the snow showers come and go, the colour of the bracken and larch against the snow and sky, heard the burns sing too. 

This croft dates from at least the 1770s, and was originally thatched. The More family lived there then, with their two small daughters. 

Had the whole place to myself, not even any tracks of deer or rabbit. Smelt a fox or two. 
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What a day.