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I follow Shetland for its melody. But heard alone, the tune loses its hunger like a feast without appetite. This music needs the wind, the sea, the faces of the island. It is not a dish to be devoured, but a breath to be lived with.

At the end of a day of felting, when my hands are still tingling with wool and colour, I like to watch series like Shetland. Its haunting background music becomes a thread between my inner landscape and the outer one on screen: both woven with solitude, memory, and the raw beauty of unfinished edges.

And how much I love Shetland wool itself with its obvious, unique crimp that gives the felt such elasticity. The wool and the music, each in their own way, hold resilience: flexible, haunting, and unforgettable.