Tom Langlands Photography Blog

The summer sun dips behind the pine trees. A deer drinks at the edge of a rippling stream; its ears flicking with every sound. An owl on sentry duty calls, heralding the changing of the forest guard. There is a stirring on a branch above and the rising moon catches a pair of waking eyes piercing the gloom. Then slowly he descends, like amber sap sliding down ancient bark. On the ground he pauses, displaying tiger-like black markings and a distinctive broad, ringed tail. He is alert and his senses keen. Something in the heather moves and he hugs the woodland floor, silently edging forward. He pounces, lifts his head revealing a small vole, turns and melts into the night. He is a Scottish Wildcat and his ancestors have lived in these forests since the last ice age separated this land from modern day Europe. He was here before man came to these lands and before domestic cats existed. Back then, he shared this island with his distant cousin the Lynx, before the latter wa

It’s the party political gathering   hear you’ve never had it so good as the fizz from the Moet et Chandon preludes the five star food swimming with upper class oysters while the pearls on the ocean floor drown in a sea of indifference and the wines of injustice they pour Observe the herding instinct as they chase around in packs it’s the cosy rubbing of shoulders and the intimate scratching of backs it’s the diamonds and rubies and Rolex mixed with the scent of Chanel climbing ivory towers to false heavens to look down on the captives in hell See the mutual admiration that by so many is held for the Christian Dior dresses and the suits by Lagerfeld but they forget when they flash the plastic in their fancy expensive stores the victims of their decisions they stepped over to get through the doors Sheltered by lies and statistics from the winds of change that they blow the barometric measure of wealth shows how the investments grow and the fat cats bask i

Looking south along Kilmartin Glen from Kilmartin Churchyard In a churchyard in the village of Kilmartin, Argyll stand some of the oldest carved gravestones in Scotland. Intricate patterns chiselled on slabs of rock 800 years ago provide subtle clues about those long departed and give death a sense of poignancy. Standing by these ancient stones and gazing across the landscape of Kilmartin Glen it is evident that carving stones and marking the landscape is an inherent part of this special place. Journey through the mists of this glen and you will travel through time to prehistory and the birth of a nation. Long after the glaciers of the ice age that carved the valley had receded, Kilmartin Glen gradually became a fertile place with a tapestry of plant life supporting a rich and varied animal kingdom. Around 12,000 years ago the first Stone Age hunters arrived to exploit the rich pickings in the Glen. They survived by hunting, fishing and eating the fruits of the land. Seve