Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Season Of Mists
Some days Hallett’s Mountain becomes an island. An Island high above a primeval swamp. A swamp populated with strange monsters. Monsters whose call echoes through the mists of the valley below. Strange crashes and groans as they brush aside the forest.
Then of course the sun comes up and everything gets a little clearer. The mist fades away and reveals the train running deep in the valley. Speedboats preparing for early water skiers glide minuscule but noisy far below. Lorries grumble along the A470 creaking out the turns in the road.
Camp bow wow and the jackhammer roadworks add their own notes to my soundscape.
I sit high on Garvie’s leap and watch the world wake up.