Silver grey limestone boulders armoured the landscape, pocked with grykes, ridden with clints.
A sparse woodland gathering of Hazel and Ash (diseased) clothed the naked rawness, surrounded the standing stone pinning down the centre. A monolith from ancestral times holding court for Whinchat and Ring Ouzel under the shadowy gaze of Ingleborough.
Close to her final days an Ash limbers her craggy bark, weaving the slow dance, writhing her last leafing, bare-breasted, bold to the end. A death to come as one by one the trees fail and fall to be subsumed by the rocky strata of an uncertain future.
Hello Jason, I may not comment on all your posts but I read them all and love and appreciate the work you do. Thank you for your gift of words as well as your amazing photography. Please keep up the good work. Thank you. Chris V.
HI Chris, thank you for this. It means a lot to me. I shall continue to share what I see, and will find ever better ways to do so.