It’s raining hard on the moor again. The seasons are changing out of step with the Wheel of the Year. The cold has chased the inhabitants of the windswept landscape away, hiding in nooks and crannies between stone and earth.
If you search thoroughly in certain places you can spot small eyes looking out at the damp world, watching as you walk by. You have to look carefully. Some places are better hidden than others.
Beneath old Rowan trees is a good start of course . . . .
