Late August views from a Lancashire hill, which last April was resounding with the skylarks' song. The heather was much more purple than can be seen on these pictures, but nonetheless fading.
Walking one morning on the Holcombe moors under a bright Spring sun. Distances are vanishing into a gleaming haze and on the banks bloom the first coltsfoot flowers. Up Moorbottom lane, the warm stones elicit sensations of Southern Alpine paths. Lancashire moors, Southern Alps, worlds apart ? Not to me. I walk, grateful for the… Continue reading Notes on skylarks, memory and happiness