This digest revels in the in-between, the transitional, the presence of absence. My camera with its dials and knobs and sharp focus has taken me into the blur of things. It has taught me that because things can't be measured it doesn't mean that it isn't there. The spirit of things, the essence of our places is as real as my shutter button.
These patterns are telling in their own right - they tell us of a melting pot of cultures. They tell us of association, assimilation and diversity, and they connect the vast stream of human consciousness that flows through these objects.
It's almost surreal to think that a place as enchanting as Edinburgh truly exists. Whenever I visit this capital city, which exudes the charm of a quaint village, I have to pinch myself to believe it's only a few hours' drive away.
The vast matrix of interaction between humans, throughout huge stretches of time, has diluted into a collective consciousness enriched by remarkably beautiful and striking things that have been passed on to us with their meaning intact.
Wirksworth changed the way I see things and I'm thankful for that.
I just love buildings like this: standing proud, gnarled and weather-beaten with a layered and textured patina that sees one epoch crash into another. Ghost gables abound, and walls that were once inside are now outside.
With the passage of time, what struck me most about these celestial renderings was the feeling of intimacy that emerged - a felt sense of presence, or maybe, even a glimpse of heaven on earth.
There's nothing quite like getting caught up in the ouvre of a place than by seeing it through the daub of a writer's words, the artist's brush or the photographer's lens.
This is a place of transition - between the land and the sea, between heaven and earth and between time and tide.
It's whilst seeking out a good Danish that I'm at my most vulnerable - have been nearly run over a couple of times whilst transfixed by a shop window full of pastries.