“the old house, in the lee of the hills, surrounded by relics of the old powder mill. the ancient stones silent, the water wheels still, but yet there is life in the ruins of the mill. the birds and the sheep find shelter to sleep the fisherman fish in the river so deep. the flowers of the forest carpet the glades. and the frogs they are leaping down in the lades. laughter bygone forever is still yet the echoes still linger here in the mill. voices come whispering from the century that was and dash is just resting under the moss. on nights of bright moon flooding over the hill I sense the life breathing here, in the mill. and here in the house time beats gently past as it has done before and will to the last.” AutobiographyCountry LifeHighlandsCottagecore Book:Green Are My Mountains Source: Green Are My Mountains