I mean, how on earth could anyone stare at this, from the window of the school bus, every morning for 7 years, and not be irreversibly changed?
It’s the Doocot (Dovecot) 1638, at Auchmacoy, Aberdeenshire. I lived near it between 1986 and 1993. The surrounding landscape was layered with ghost tales, abandoned buildings, a haunted mausoleum, ancient fields that yeilded worked flints, grey fog over an eerie estuary
The landscapes were I grew up definitely shaped me. After Scotland, we moved to Devon and I lived there for another 7 years. In an ancient longhouse. Devon is so rolling and idyllic. Mystical and haunting yes, but nothing compares to the bleak horror of NE Scotland in winter