Skein of Time
We head into a green gloom of Heber’s very own making, for the late evening light is still bright in the sky… and almost immediately we start to climb.
Water falls, gurgling on both sides of us as the path twists first one way and then the next and just keeps on climbing up through the steep ravine and ever up heading for the light expanse of the moor but holding the gloom intact like a tight-rope walker his balancing pole.
“It is quite possible,” says Wen “that the whole of the moor once looked like this.”
“It feels old somehow… much older than it has any right to be.”
“Time holds no sway here,” smiles Wen and then, “Oh, look there’s a pointy stone.”
Wen gestures away, over my shoulder, to where there is indeed a rather large and somewhat incongruous looking pointed stone. And…
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