I had been living in the area for years. I was aware of the hillfort hidden in the woods, could have pointed out the chalk-carved figures, shown you where the burial mounds were and explained how the Ridgeway had traversed these hilltops for the past five thousand years. Even so, the land had never come to life for me.
I am a Yorkshire lass. The moors of home were alive and calling. I needed millstone grit and bracken, peat-gold streams and a sea of heather before the land would sing to my soul.
Until, that is, my friend came to visit.
It was a day of pure magic and the land, no matter where we found ourselves, would never again be silent. By simply paying attention, it was as if the earth was illuminating itself from within, whispering secrets it had been longing to share for millennia and laying before…
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