All that could be seen in front of her was the silhouetted dark shape of the rising moors, rolling on for miles and visible up until a touch of emerald light scathed the horizon. In the darkness, the unexpected scent reached her, of honey- heather- and- gorse bush that seemed to be embroidered into the very landscape. Something sounded against the slick, slightly damp tarmac and an auburn fox was suddenly visible. The frightened creature stared at her with it sharp, noble eyes as it was unveiled from its cover when in the dark, smoky bitter blue sky, something shifted and the entirety of the rolling hills was all of a sudden bathed in a whimsical silver. The air there could be sold for millions in a polluted country, and a glimpse of the moon and of the stars that seemed to lilt in and out of existence could inspire anyone who is lost. She was bewitched by it, intoxicated on the strange yearning that it brought her; the place brought with it the happiness of freedom and also the romance of melancholy found within old classics, poems and music. Light.

By Åvå ÏndieGråcē Ørd, December 5, 2015.

A world of uneven ground, of treeless hills and mist-filled hollows, of waterlogged past and heather-clad sloped, of high tors capped with broken granite, of hut circles and avenues of stones left by ancient peoples, Dartmoor extends over an area of between 22 and 300 square miles.

By hiccup, April 17, 2012.

Found in Springtime in Britain, authored by Edwin Way Teale.


The late summer riot of violet had ebbed to a brown tinged green, sprinkled white with the season's first snow flurry. The ground was still springy despite the bitter cold and the wind howled in tempestuous gusts. The path lay like a crumpled ribbon between the heathers far as the eye journeyed in front or behind.

By angela, April 17, 2012*.