The Collie on Dartmoor

This is where he is happiest - the wide open spaces of the upper moor. The Collie senses the change in the seasons, his nose raises up into the breeze and quivers - he seems to drink in the scents as we absorb the view from the top of White Tor.
 
The climb has been gentle but, for once, The Lakeland is lagging behind. She doesn't give up and will make it to the top because of her sheer determination. The late afternoon sunshine is very welcome as we know that there will be no more opportunities to walk this late in the day. The clocks go back one hour this weekend and so British Summer Time officially ends.
 

The reddish hue of the bracken is giving way to more earthy colours - ochre, tan, russet and moss. The desolate moorland resembles the uninhabited deserts of other continents. The raw wind reminds us that we are a long way from any sultry, summer temperatures.

The bold shapes of the granite rocks stand proud and imposing on the wild moorland. The silence and the emptiness create a mystical atmosphere and you can begin to believe the myths and tales that are told about these remote places.

Stephen's Grave

The Collie is at home in this landscape. The inquisitive ponies no longer bother him. The brainless sheep that follow one another in lines across our path, are of no interest. Here we can all find our own space and take time to reflect and contemplate how fortunate we are.

Sanity restored, we all head home.