There was an aura of quiet, natural wholesomeness about it. It reminded me of the fact that as a kid I used to get a strong sense of the misty, mythical Arthurian world – a world in which Romantic ideals held sway and the land was something magical and sacred, rather than a resource merely to be exploited for human gain.
And do you know, I’ve never lost that sense. It surfaces occasionally, usually when I’m alone in a quiet, rarefied spot and the insistent energies of nature whisper ‘this is closer to reality than the one you’re forced to think of as home.’
I hope I never lose that sense, and after all this time I doubt I shall.