Even the garden birds that we watch with pleasure at our bird-feeders are in a state of conflict: safety or hunger. When the weather is at its worst, more and more birds throng to the table, because the alternative to facing their fear is starvation. It is easy to sentimentalize nature, to forget that the prevailing forces at work – besides the urge to hold a territory and find a mate – are hunger and fear.

The great gift of solitude is that although you might think that it provokes introspection, actually the very opposite is true – you can lose all sense of self.

I certainly learned to be at ease with myself in the years I spent at Penlan, but it was not by knowing myself better – it was by forgetting I was there. I had become a part of the landscape, a stone.

The silence outside was reflected by a growing silence within. Any interior monologue quietened to a whisper, then faded away entirely.

It is useful to be reminded of your place, and to recognise just how much you still have to learn, and how much you will never know.

Winters here are hard. It is not so much the cold as the long nights, and I tended to sleep early and wake with first light to minimize the hours spent sitting in the darkness in forced immobility, idly tending the fire.

...the cold got into your bones, and no matter how many logs you threw on the fire, you never felt truly warm.

Happiness is a full larder.

The great gift of solitude is that although you might think that it provokes introspection, actually the very opposite is true - you can lose all sense of self.

This was the pattern of my days, a simple life led by natural rhythms rather than the requirements and expectations of others.