Genur.art

fff,The wind carries the fragrance of gorse across the heather moorland, and the ochre hills gradually turn into dark brown outlines in the dusk. On Loch Ness, the ferry's wake smears the last streak of sunset, turning into a shimmering silver ribbon. In the distance, a shepherd wraps himself in a rough woolen cloak, and the barking of his sheepdog blends with the lingering melody of the bagpipes, spreading under the low clouds. Scattered black peat huts glow with warm yellow lights, like stars scattered on the moorland, gently embracing the vastness of this land