Higger Tor

I am most inspired (and, I do believe, my most inspiring of self) when I’m out in/creating with nature – when the soft touch of a seasonal palette nestles its way into my arms, comfortably setting itself up for time shared, and hours merged…a kind-of mind-meets-landscapes-fills-lungs companionship. There is (very much) something (brought by) being outside (exploring, adventuring, quietly, with small – but meaningful – steps) does that nothing else comes close to doing. Sunny days, sky-full-of-grey days, met-with-blustery-air days…stick a pair of wellies on me, sweet one, and guess what? I’m game. Hoody chucked on, rucksack on back, camera on front (underneath a scarf that comes in handy if the skies are open), brain in gear, eyes peeled and wide-open popped, voice on full volume because apparently I can’t alter it when outside (noise pollution? I’ve got that covered!), and I’m there, ready-and-raringwith a smile on my face – to go.

Remember the mist? Had the white shifted, this would have been what we found that day. Instead? We found it yesterday – hills unfurling, for miles across, from heavily clouded skies (whose slanted, light sheets of rain occasionally, most momentarily, tickled our faces between the try-to-warm-us rays), decorated with all the hues of nature’s most splendid season-turning ways. I gasped more than once (yes, of the out loud, you-knocked-the-air-out-of-my-lungs sort, audible enough that the boy could hear from the many steps he was often in front of me by) at the variety of landscape that met my ‘can you believe we live near here?!’ eyes…stark, stripped-of-all-decoration land, rock-strewn tors (littered with the orange backs of ‘reach up there’ rock climbers), sheep dotted fields, the yellow-toned façade of a beautiful estate…all jostling, shoulder-to-shoulder, for our attention.

And so we gave it, with gratitude, and inquisitiveness, and utter, most sheer and transparent of, delight.

(If anyone knows how to edit ghastly, over-exposed/high-contrast skies, let me know!)

And now, to you:

Share with me about your own relationship with nature.

Fiction 01: Sat

She raised her head - a tilt to the right - and after resting it softly against the chair’s slick-with-shine (reflecting-the-artificial-light, in ripples of molten white) wooden frame, rubbed her hand – the folded skin of her knuckles bearing the signs of a season’s turning – across the hills and valleys of her tired face, a soft whooshing of dragged-across skin whispering in her ear. Pausing, with a gently-closed hand shadowing her eyes from the unforgiving fluorescents, she ran the ragged-edge of her thumb-nail – caught by the blade of an all-too-keen-to-chop knife – across her teeth, an au natural file shredding layers in a fill-her-head-with-grating-noise fashion. Pulling it back she studied her less-than-handiwork - night-time vision blurring her skin into a double-it-up haze of soft peach - with a questioning 'more?' before letting it fall to the hushed creases of her lap, shaking her bones - already silently dancing an off-to-bed waltz - with an unforgiving sigh.

My first (very small) piece of drawn-from-real-life fiction, written at the end of my Wednesday.



#talesofseptember | embracing real life + encouraging the same | community builder • writer of tales • conversation seeker + connection hunter | #ourworldinskies


Ether, Silent Partner

I awake - my body juddering-to at the it-has-come-to-be-familiar (once more) 6am - and clamber out of bed (shiver-of-skin), into pj’s and a bleach-flicked dressing gown, before making my way into the lounge, blinds drawn.


(Never trust the weatherman).

The day before the skies had been cloudy-but-fair, accompanied by new-season-sunshine.

That morning?


We take to the road, welly-booted and hoodied-up, camera (strap bundled-up) in my rucksack, alongside a bottle of water (ever under-prepared for our journeys ahead, coupled with a dislike for ‘hung around’ food) and not-much-else. Out comes the phone, a memory-jog, as we pootle along the roads, before reaching the cross-over from city-to-countryside, mist appearing once more and masking trundled-onto-the-road sheep whose woolly-outlined ghostly figures appear, as if by magic, on the dotted white lines.

Parked, we twist our bodies through the metal gate, the landscape before us heavy-rock-and-heather-strewn, a blank-canvas of heavy white our tour guide. We clamber upwards - boot-meeting-rock with a familiar, ‘I’ve felt this before’ tread, and dew-dropped-foliage lining our pathways, nature’s bejewelled-reminder of the damp air – mist closing in as the summit is reached, king-of-the-world territory.


Sprouting of a subtle

Melt-in-the mouth

Dance with the fresh, 

Inhaled with a savour-it 

Taste for the juice of 

Nature's delicacies.


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