The light on the hills above the bay, late in the season, when the heather is past its peak and the colour has deepened into something between bloom and dusk. Not bright. Settled. The particular violet of the hour before dark, when the sky still holds colour but the day has already let go.

Evening Heather holds both. Neither cool nor warm, it carries the blue of the sky and the red of the earth. Somewhere between treeline and tide.