My Space

It was all about the Moon. It broke the horizon and all the tension that had built up in me flooded out with every breath, just as I had known it would, and I knew I had been right to remain here in Tintagel for this moment.

Sure, there’s plenty I need to get on with in London, but there’s time. Besides, I’ve done well over the last couple of weeks, compressing all that needed to be done into concentrated time, colourful and saturated. Not so much amphetamine; more Sunny D. But I’ve earned myself a rest. Stretch the time out, let it rest and breathe, and me with it.

So I’m staying a few extra days here. There’s time. And there’s the Moon.
As soon as I’d made the decision to remain here, I knew where I wanted to wanted to be when the Moon rose. There’s a stone circle on the moors. Not well-known, nor big and clever. And unless you know the name of the circle, you’ll never find it. No signs saying ‘hippies - this way’, just one small name plate a hundred yards away.

But many’s the wind-blown night I’ve spent up there in years past. A flask of coffee, a candle, a camera and a cape. The Four Cs of successful Lunacy.

I wanted some pictures that connected the elements of the scene: the clear air between the stars, the tidal moon, the fire of the candle-lantern, and the ancient stones straining up from the earth. But for all their straining, they don’t make it very far into the tall, clear skies; they’re a bit on the short side. So I found myself getting lower and lower until I embraced the inevitable, checked for cowpats, and got down and dirty on my belly.

Suddenly I was breathing the sharp salt earth that I’ve missed so much. So much of a land clings within it’s fragrance. I shot most of the pictures here while supine (hand-held, if you’re wondering – tripods are for tremble-shaky wusses) but it was mainly an excuse to stay there, rolling around in the coarse wild grasses, filling my lungs with my beloved.

I hope you like the atmosphere of these pictures. One day we will digitally capture the smell of ocean-blown moors and the texture of stone and sedge on hands and face and the myths and legends of these lands will come to life.

Now. Where’s that flask?

Comments

[Cryx]

Very nice indeed!