As the first light of a Highland sunrise crept over the horizon, its soft, golden hues illuminated the weathered stones of the derelict Moine House. The broken walls and empty windows, etched with the scars of time, stood in quiet defiance against the rugged landscape.

The light transformed the scene, softening the starkness of abandonment and breathing a fleeting warmth into the ruins. Standing there, I felt a profound connection to the past — a bittersweet blend of melancholy and wonder. It was as though the house, though empty of life, carried the whispers of those who had once called it home.

In that tranquil moment, the beauty of the sunrise and the solitude of the Highlands filled me with a deep sense of reverence and peace.