Wild Waters

Lovers of the wild like to get out when other folk may be happier at home. In the wind and in the rain and snow. Among the wild trees and the rushing waters.

And when we're there we like to stand still.

Those who walk along the empty moortops only on calm days and call it wilderness are to be pitied or, perhaps, better educated.

The sound of the spating stream almost but not quite covers a bird orchestra, musicians who care not about rain or audibility problems.

It's not just the torrent either. The spring energy of the ground plants complements the intensity of the waters. Bluebells are at their best when in small clumps around trees but also on islands with the current driving round them.