The moor smelled of the heavy musk of horse manure blended with dry grass.
A few drops of rain had fallen from the gathering blankets of cloud onto parched ground to release the musky scent.
The paths were hard and yellowing- green, bordered by great swathes of purple heather and contrasting vivid yellow gorse flowers.
A faint murmur of insects accompanied my steps.
Belted Galloway cattle stood chewing noisily and the Dartmoor ponies wandered slowly grazing here and there, flicking flies with their long tails.
We had reached the turning point: the point when lazy, high-summer begins to turn its thoughts to Autumn.
It’s always the time of year I look forward to the most.
The commonplace green bracken now warranted close inspection. Isolated fronds boasted a bouquet of greens, yellows and browns and I studied them as if among a gallery of fine art, from one exhibit to the next.
Multi coloured mosses and lichens were laid out in straight lines on tables of granite.
A stonechat tut-tutted at my approach then shyly retreated.
The faintest breeze cooled my skin.
The skies thought of rain and I felt the first tentative drops carried on the air.
What had only yesterday been a furnace from which I hid and cowered, was now balm to body and soul.
My busy mind emptied of all else and I walked with God.
