Quiet beauty

Shap Fell can be a hard place to like. A high and wild place yet it is most often the scars of man that seem to dominate. The flow of the M6 somehow worse as the carriageways separate for a while, the billowing industry of the steel works, the vandal gash of the quarry, and, looming above all, the pylons that stand testimony to the fleeting dominion of man's endeavour.

Yet its a place that has its own deeper magic to weave. The beauty of the pink granite erratics, some processionally placed by our ancient forebears, some preposterously perched high on the once seabed limestone. Wildlife abounds here, caring not one jot it would seem for the presence of man. Whilst sheep have forever desecrated much of what was the deer still visit, the call of curlews and oystercatcher fill the air and hares rise up tall to watch your passing.
Often I'll pause here a while just to see what might be about. But today I simply had to stop. The heather of this wild Moor currently demands more than a moment of appreciation; vibrant with colour it stretches for miles in each direction. Fabulous.