So stark and obvious, shining in the sun, from our side of the valley, once you get lost in the scrub and bracken up on the other side, it can be almost impossible to find but it’s always a relief when you do. At about 3 meters, it might not be quite as imposing as the stones on Orkney, a little less Richard Serra, and it might be about 3000 years “younger” but it feels like ours and we just need to go for a gentle walk, not a 1000 mile drive.
The funny thing is how bleak and exposed we can feel here and yet how soft and lush it looks.
Lush but not chocolate box, thatched picket posey bonnety twee. Like where I grew up, it’s been worked and exploited, healed and sealed and then been torn open and worked over again by thousands of years of agriculture and industry, shaped and scarred by and intimately entwined with us. Totally natural but not even vaguely wilderness, real like us.
And it’s amazing how little time the vegetal world needs to incorporate, digest and integrate our grandest attempts at domination.