Tuesday, moor-day.

Out onto the moor today. In the midst of all the busy-ness, the prospect of putting miles of moorland under my feet and acres of clear sky in my eyes gladdens my heart like the homecoming that it is, ‘though greater, when I’m out with the skylarks, the buzzards and the long grass. I’ll sing and talk to myself and remember all manner of forgotten things, be dazzled and devastated in turn by the world and the twists and turns of this story. And then I’ll come back to this house and the wind’ll echo in my head and my spirit and soul will be singing with lark-song and hawk-cry and I’ll begin the busy-ness again, renewed, recollected, my intent honed to a fine edge and my body alive with the wild.


Photos are not mine – you can find them here, and here, and here.

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