Small Stone no. 40: Dartmoor


“In your vast bright blue skies my spirit flies, swooping over the low, scrubby gorse. Gentle undulations sweep my soul across the ancient land toward an inward liberation. The soggy, sodden ground collects its wetness in crystal clear pools that act as mirrors for the myriad of fast-paced changing faces in the sky above. Giant, crumpled, weathered rocks salute on high to serenade the distant sea, which glows in the yellow-grey storm light. The persistent winds bring freshness and an elemental force to the coarse, tufty, tawny colored grasses. Luscious green mossy carpets soften the hardness of gigantic cold rocks with their delicate spongey body. Hail lashes our faces as a north wind storm blows its way across the moor to meet the sea. Our windswept cheeks glow and eyes brighten as we expand into wonders that surround us. The crisp, cool winter air brings life to our lungs, and to a land that is still silently sleeping.”


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