​Well, it seems that the perception that time speeds up as we age is a common experience, and it stems from a combination of psychological, biological, and cognitive factors. Put simply, while time itself remains constant, our interpretation of it changes over the course of our lives due to shifts in how our brains process and recall experiences.
 
One of the most widely accepted explanations for this is what’s called proportional theory. For example, to a 10-year-old, one year is 10% of their life, which feels substantial. To a 50-year-old, however, one year is only 2% of their life, making it feel much shorter in comparison. This proportional difference influences our perception of time, making it feel as though each successive year is progressively faster.
 
Another explanation involves how our brains perceive time based on the number of memorable or novel events we experience. In childhood and early adulthood, life is filled with “firsts” — first school, first job, first love, or first big trip. These novel experiences are more likely to be stored in our long-term memory, and because we recall more details from these periods, they feel longer in retrospect.
 
Daily routines and predictable patterns also play a significant role in the sensation of accelerated time because adults often settle into rhythms that involve work, family, and social obligations, which can become repetitive. This regularity contrasts with the dynamic and exploratory nature of youth, which feels slower due to constant change and learning. When days blur together due to monotony, months and years can seem to vanish quickly.
 
There are also neurological factors because, as we age, there are changes in brain activity related to time perception. Studies suggest that our internal clock, which is influenced by neural processing, may slow down as we grow older. This means that fewer mental markers are laid down over a given period, leading to the sensation that time is speeding up. Additionally, the production of dopamine, a neurotransmitter associated with time perception, decreases with age and so potentially alters how we experience the passage of time.
 
Also, as adults, we tend to focus more on future planning or present responsibilities, which leaves less room for moment-to-moment awareness. The more we operate on autopilot, the faster time seems to pass, a contrast to the detailed attention children pay to their surroundings.
 
Finally, as we grow older, the awareness of our mortality becomes more pronounced, often influenced by life experiences such as the loss of loved ones, health challenges, or reaching significant life milestones. This growing consciousness that the time ahead is finite may lead to a heightened focus on how quickly the years pass, amplifying the sensation of time’s acceleration. This awareness can also create a sense of urgency to accomplish goals or cherish meaningful moments, which paradoxically makes time feel even shorter because we are actively measuring its passage.
 
However, if you are feeling that time is passing far too quickly, you can slow it down by introducing more novelty and variety into your daily life. Engaging in new activities, traveling to unfamiliar places, or learning new skills creates vivid memories, making time feel richer and longer. Practicing mindfulness can also help by anchoring your attention to the present moment, reducing the tendency for days to blur together. Additionally, reflecting on your days through journaling or photography enhances memory recall, creating a more detailed sense of time and stretching its perceived passage. I wonder. Will time slow down if I get out with the camera more often?

The blue hour occurs twice a day, just before sunrise and just after sunset, so you might be thinking that it is simply the time of day known as twilight, but there is a little more to it than that. This first thing to know is that there are three phases of twilight: civil twilight, when the Sun is between 0° and -6° below the horizon; nautical twilight, when it is between -6° and -12° below; and astronomical twilight, when it is between -12° and -18°below.
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During civil twilight, there is still colour in the sky, and it is light enough to see objects clearly; the sky is darker during nautical twilight and by astronomical twilight it's almost completely dark. The evening blue hour is the period of transition from civil to nautical twilight (or vice versa in the morning), when the Sun is between -4° and -8° below the horizon.

At this time, the longer red wavelengths of light from the Sun pass straight out into space and the shorter, blue wavelengths are scattered in the atmosphere. The result is a rich and saturated cool blue colour that is incredibly atmospheric, so if romance and mystery are your thing, this really is a great time head out with your camera.

Before you do though, you should know that despite its name, the blue hour only lasts for 20-40 minutes depending on your location, the time of year and atmospheric conditions. At this time of year here on the Peninsula, it begins at about 20 minutes after sunset and at 45 minutes before sunrise. In either case it lasts for around 20 minutes, so the opportunity for photography is fleeting, but nonetheless very rewarding.

​Beyond its aesthetic appeal, I find the blue hour to be an incredibly tranquil and thought-provoking time of day, and this is especially true of the evening blue hour. I’m not sure what it is, but this “in-between time” during which day transitions into night, I feel compelled to pause and appreciate the beauty of that exact moment. This is especially true if I’m out in the landscape alone with my camera because moments of such solitude bring a real sense of peace and stillness that allow me to disconnect from any stresses or challenges that I may have experienced during the day.
 
As the blue hour comes to an end, the sky transforms from the canvas of rich blues that I was photographing to a deepening shade of indigo. With this comes the gradual unveiling of the stars, with each one sparkling ever brighter as the sky darkens. As more and more stars become visible, I am often struck by the vastness of the cosmos and with this comes strong feelings of awe and humility due to Earth’s true insignificance.
 
The sheer scale of the Universe, with its billions of galaxies each containing billions of stars, puts into perspective the minuscule size and fleeting existence of our home planet. It is a mere speck of dust in the cosmic ocean and seems so inconsequential in comparison to the unimaginable expanses of space stretching out in all directions. It is in these moments that I am reminded of the transient nature of human existence. Yet, amidst this feeling of smallness, there is also a sense of wonder and curiosity. The very fact that we can contemplate our place in the Universe, that we can marvel at the stars and ponder the mysteries of existence, is a testament to the extraordinary capabilities of the human mind. It is in moments like this that I just love catching the blues.

​I guess I ended up thinking about the difference between the two because photography, as both an art form and a technical skill, involves a delicate balance between knowledge and wisdom. Indeed, a photographer’s ability to capture compelling images is influenced not only by technical know-how but also by the nuanced application of wisdom.
 
Knowledge in its fundamental form is gained by the acquisition of information, facts, and skills which, in the case of photography, encompasses an understanding of things such as camera settings, composition rules, lighting techniques, and post-processing tools. It is the photographer's proficiency in handling equipment, choosing the right exposure, and manipulating elements within the frame that provides the necessary foundation for capturing technically sound images.
 
In contrast, wisdom goes beyond the mere possession of such information and the technicalities of taking a photograph. It allows photographers to determine the relevance of various pieces of the information that make up their knowledge and how best to apply it to their own work. To my mind, a wise photographer understands that a compelling image is not solely about pixel-perfect technical execution but about conveying a story, evoking emotions or capturing the essence of a moment.
 
One key distinction between the two lies in how they are acquired. Knowledge can be obtained through formal education, reading and observation. It is quantifiable and can be measured in terms of proficiency in a specific field or the retention of factual details. I’m sure everyone will remember dreaded exams at school that aimed to do just this. Wisdom, on the other hand, is cultivated over time and often matures through a combination of life experiences and introspection, and a willingness to learn from both successes and failures. It certainly can’t be measured in a way that knowledge can be.
 
When thinking about the image above, my sense is that wisdom encouraged me to make thoughtful decisions about what to include in the frame and what to exclude from it, it helped me recognise the emotional impact of light and encouraged me to wait the time I did to take the photograph. The result was that I pressed the shutter button just when the conditions were right and created an image that conveyed the emotions that I wanted it to.
 
In my photographic journey, like many people I guess, I began it by acquiring knowledge through learning the basics of composition, exposure, and editing techniques. It was only after I understood these basics that I was able to practice, try photography under different conditions and, probably most importantly of all, learn from my successes and failures.
 
Recently, I have been reviewing images that I took a few years ago, and comparing those that invoke some form of emotional response with those that don’t. By doing this, I’m working on identifying recurring themes, styles, and subjects that resonate with me. My hope is that by incorporating these elements into my future work, I can refine my artistic style and more consistently create images that resonate deeply with not only myself, but also audiences that view them.

​The beauty of a crescent moon is very subjective and is very much down to personal preference, but I do find it particularly captivating when the Moon is visible at sunset or sunrise. This timing allows a crescent moon to appear against the backdrop of the colourful twilight sky and create a striking visual contrast just like it did on the evening when I took this month’s photograph. I was absolutely captivated by the sight of it hanging in the sky just above the hills of Morvern and the orange glow from a setting Sun.

​This captivating and beautiful celestial sight has been historically associated with various myths and cultural beliefs and predominant themes seem to be ones of renewal and transformation. In various religious contexts, a crescent moon holds specific meanings. In some pagan and Wiccan traditions, the crescent moon is considered a symbol of the feminine divine, representing cycles, intuition, and the ever-changing nature of life, while in Hinduism, it is associated with various deities, including Shiva and Parvati and the waxing and waning of the Moon is said to represent the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.
 
However, it is in Islam where the crescent moon perhaps features most prominently and is seen on top of minarets and mosques, and on the flags of many Muslim countries. Representing the beginning of the lunar month, it is used to determine the timing of important Islamic events and holidays, such as Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar.  This month is a time of fasting, prayer, reflection, and community for Muslims worldwide and the crescent moon plays a crucial role at its beginning and end. The sighting of the new crescent moon marks the end of the month of Sha'ban and the beginning of Ramadan, while the sighting of the crescent moon at the end of Ramadan signifies the end of the fasting period and the celebration of Eid al-Fitr, a festival that marks the end of Ramadan.

​Given how captivating the sight of a crescent moon can be, it is perhaps little wonder that it plays a role in several of the World’s cultures and religions, but whatever your beliefs are, it is certainly a sight worth seeing. So, if you are an early riser, look out for it in the east at sunrise on the mornings just before a new moon and if you are a night owl, look for it in the west at sunset a few days later. You won’t be disappointed.

​The concept of “thin places” has been woven into the tapestry of Celtic folklore and spirituality for centuries, being used to describe places where the boundary between the physical world and a mystical, historical or spiritual world is believed to be exceptionally thin, thus facilitating a sense of connection between the two.
 
In thin places, you might feel a sense of awe and heightened awareness of being in the presence of something greater than yourself and, as such, they are often characterised by an otherworldly atmosphere, where the ordinary and the extraordinary intermingle. This is certainly something I can say about Ariundle Oakwood, a place where each ancient tree and each moss-covered boulder seems to harbour mystical beings waiting to be unveiled.
 
When you stand in a thin place you may instead find your imagination ignited by thoughts of what has been before you. This historical imagination can transport you to a different era, picturing scenes from the past as if they were unfolding right before your eyes. Camas nan Geall is a place where I get this feeling.
 
This “Bay of the Strangers” is a fascinating place because it contains evidence of human presence that covers a period of several millennia of human history. This ranges from a Neolithic chambered cairn to deserted clearance dwellings and includes a number of things in-between. The chambered cairn in the centre of the bay may seem quite innocuous, but when you stand next to it and consider that people buried their dead there some 5000-6000 years before, you cannot help but feel a sense of what has gone before.
 
Perhaps more poignant though, are the ruins of Torr na Mòine and Bourblaige up on the slopes of Ben Hiant which were settlements that were home to the people of Camas Nan Geall before they were forcibly evicted in the 19th century so that the land could be used for a sheep farm. It’s hard to comprehend the hardship and trauma that these people suffered from being suddenly cleared from their ancestral lands by the landowner for primarily economic reasons.
 
Finally, the Old Parish Church in Kilchoan is a place where I feel that there is a thin veil between our physical world and the spiritual world. It is a hauntingly peaceful place that seems to compel you to tread carefully and with due deference to ground that has played host to a place of worship from some 700 years.
 
Giving Kilchoan its name, this Church of St Comghan must have been incredibly important to the local community as a place where they could come together not only to worship but to also seek fellowship and support. Indeed, a walk around the graveyard that surrounds the church to look at gravestones that date from as far back as the 14th century and as recent as the 1990’s, pays testament to just how long this “thin place” has provided spiritual succour to the community.
 
There are many other places on the Peninsula to which I have felt a sense of the mystical, historical or spiritual and this most likely stems from my photography encouraging me to slow down and take time to get a real sense of a place before I ever think of pressing the shutter button. However, you don’t need a camera to experience the profound ways in which certain locations can inspire feelings of connectivity to a different realm. You can just slow down, look, listen and feel when you next find yourself in a place that you sense you might be connected to.

Take this month’s image, which was shot on a beautifully sunny day in July out at Sanna, looking north across the bay to the Small Isles beyond. On days such as this, with bright sunlight overhead, the sea takes on an intense range of blue hues ranging from light blues of the shallow water to the dark blues of the deeper water, all caused by the way light interacts with the seawater.
 
You see, daylight is made up of many different visible colours, ranging from reds and oranges to blues and violets, with the reds and oranges having the longest wavelengths and the blues and violets having the shortest. As water molecules are better at absorbing light with longer wavelengths, they absorb much of the red, orange, yellow and green light. The bluer colours, with shorter wavelengths, are less likely to be absorbed and so are reflected by the white sand on the seabed to give the sea its blue hues.
 
In shallow water, there are fewer water molecules to absorb the red, orange, yellow and green light, so more of it reaches the seabed to be reflected with the blues and violets and give either clear or slightly blue water. However, the deeper the water becomes, the more the reds, oranges, yellows and greens are absorbed and the deeper blue the colour of the water becomes, until you reach the point where no visible light can reach the seabed and the water becomes completely dark.
 
I find something quite captivating about the aquatic blue hues of the sea at places such as Sanna and I’m sure that this is reflected in my affinity for water and for photographing the sea and the coastline. In fact, it has been documented that our affinity for water is reflected in our near-universal attraction to the colour blue and that we associate this colour with qualities like calm, openness, depth and wisdom.

The link between the two has even been developed into something called “Blue Mind Science”, the study of aquatic environments’ health benefits that was first popularised by marine biologist Dr Wallace Nichols in his 2014 book, “Blue Mind”. Simply put, Blue Mind is a mildly meditative state that people fall into when they are near, in, under or on water and some of the physical and mental health benefits include:
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• Triggering involuntary attention, which is essential to problem-solving and creativity.
• Increasing the levels of neurotransmitters such as dopamine, sometimes called the feel-good hormone; serotonin, also known as the happiness hormone; and oxytocin, described as the cuddle hormone; as well as decreasing cortisol, described as the stress hormone.
• Acting as a source of awe that expands a person’s compassion.
• The colour, sound and feel of water lowering the pulse rate and increasing feelings of calmness.

​So, if you’re seeing red, feeling angry, anxious, and stressed, then head to the coast for some “Blue Mindfulness”. I can highly recommend it.

I’m a morning person and naturally wake up early, but I do realise that not everyone is like this. Therefore, I thought that I’d give some reasons why I think it is good to at least once, get up early with the birds, head to a favourite place and watch a new day begin:

• Be in the moment: In my blog in February, I wrote about how photography was an act of mindfulness that allows you to focus not on your outside concerns, but solely on the moment and the task at hand and the mental wellbeing that this brings. I find that watching the light and colours appear at sunrise gives me a similar experience because it encourages me to stop and realise that, as a new day begins, it is presenting me with an opportunity to enjoy everything it has to offer. 
• Improve your mood:  When you watch a sunrise, it will most likely put you in a better mood for the rest of the day. In fact, it has been proven that it relieves stress and has many physical benefits, so the next time you’re having a tough time, go to your favourite spot and watch the sun come up while your worries wash away.
• Your sleep and health: Getting out in the natural light of the morning is beneficial for our sleep because exposure to light early in the day, as well as physical activity, helps to set our internal body clock and so protect us from certain diseases.
  
• Protection from sunburn: The time of day has a significant impact on the amount and kind of light we enjoy, and early morning exposes us to a type of sunlight that we do not get during the rest of the day. It is low in the ultraviolet rays that cause sunburn and high in the infrared rays that enhance and strengthen the skin, doing this in a way that protects it from sunburn.
• Seeing colours that you never knew could exist in nature: When people see one of my sunrise photos they often ask, was it really that colourful. Well, yes, because the colours that the sun creates as it rises from below the horizon can be truly amazing and unlike any you might see at a different time of the day.
• Every sunrise is different:  The American author Jonathan P Lamas said that “Just like the days, no two sunrises are ever the same.” This is completely true because during each sunrise the light and colours evolve a little bit differently, making each one unique and well worth getting out of bed for.
• Better for photography: While photographing at sunset can yield stunning landscape photographs, I think that photographing at sunrise is much better because there tends to be fewer people about and there is less haze in the atmosphere. This means that you can pick your compositions without worrying about having to avoid people in them and you will have clear pictures as the air is visibly clearer.​
  
• It’s absolutely free: Last but certainly not least, is that it doesn’t cost a penny. Mother nature puts on these wonderful and colourful shows for free, so why don’t you set that alarm, get up early, take some coffee and get out there to enjoy the show?