Badbury solstice

I'd pondered over the last few days as to where to watch the sunrise this summer solstice. I wanted to take Geoff for his first sunrise, and I fancied going for a dawn walk too; so didn't fancy the palaver of a site with lots of people where Geoff would certainly get too excited, nor any site that may restrict exploration or necessitate driving too far. Badbury Rings came to mind as the perfect choice, in a perfect wandering landscape, and that it was.  The sky was lightening quickly as we made our way up a drove towards the deep ditches and huge ramparts of Badbury's Iron Age defences, as we were serenaded all the way by an very vocal pre-dawn chorus. Geoff was loving the early morning country smells, I knew he would. Just being out here this early in the morning, the day yet properly birthed, is a magical experience in itself, prompting that perennial thought 'I should do this more often'.  Of course, the chances are the next time I'll be up this early and thinking this thought wont be until lughnasadh. Still, the intentions there. Reaching the ramparts I could see a scattering of like minded folk had already taken their positions, we exchanged solstice blessings as we passed, before finding a suitable spot and waiting in meditative peace for Bel. Mists hanging in the pre-dawn Allen Valley only added to the magic of the moment, as slowly an orange hue developed on the horizon, then on cue Bel showed his face. It was beautiful, man, a perfect sunrise, and I felt my spirit lift; if there's one thing we all need, it's to have our spirits lifted and our life affirmed more often.  It's quite a thing to see the sun come up, you don't imagine it would rise so quickly, though it really does. Before long the hillfort and its surrounding landscape were bathed in glorious golden sun light, the longest day was here, and it shone brightly, casting long shadows through the hillfort's tree filled interior. Walking around the rings we enjoyed a continuous panorama over the patchwork landscape of rural Dorset, with the Chase to the north and the Purbeck coast to the South, and it all shimmered with life. Our world is a wonder. Solstice blessing y'all beautiful people.

Sunset up Gus

I've neglected the sunsets of late, too busy languishing in a treacly malaise or running in my hamster wheel shaking my fist and grumbling at the world. A situation that required rectifying. The sky looked like it had potential this evening, so off I rode towards Gus (by coincidence, another uncomfortable, eyes always upon you type of place like the Common). Unfortunately the sky didn't develop as I thought it might, wrong spacial proportions, all the right pieces in play, they just didn't meld.  That said, it was a pleasant sundown, some lovely colours,  and still worthwhile getting out for, after all, every sunset is unique.   

June's Moon

I said the common was a magical place, and it is, although it's also a very eerie strange place too, and I understand that's a commonly held feeling by people who've walk here. I walk a lot and only a handful of places fill me with the uncomfortable feelings that the common can. It often has an subtle air of foreboding about it, hidden away in the background, just out of sight. There's the feeling of eyes always upon you, and the frequent need to look behind you is overwhelming, unlike anywhere I've ever been. Most people who know the common would say the same.  Weird, it's ostensibly a lovely tract of common land, that's well trodden and much loved, though there's always something that stimulates your alertness, often taking you to the edge of flight or fight it can manifest so intensely. So with that in mind, you can imagine what the common feels like at night, yup, it's a proper scary place. That's where I went tonight to take another poor full moon photo, and it was proper scary. June's full Moon.

A sense of place

I've mentioned before how lucky I feel living where we do, blessed to be next to the New Forest, an hour west to the Jurassic Coast and an hour north to Cranborne Chase, all enchanted and magical landscapes. Though last weeks OBOD 'Tea with a Druid no77' on the magic of local places reminded me of how blessed I am with what's on my doorstep in the shape of 'The Common', a local expanse of common land. Well, not just the common itself, although that is the largest tract, but all the smaller pockets of woodland scattered throughout the neighbourhood, which allow us, if we're canny, to move about through a semi rural landscape doing our regular tasks. Always with one foot in and an eye on the nature world. The common is a fascinating tract of land, with an incredible diversity in form and habitats, coniferous woodland, deciduous woodland, heathland and grassland are all represented as are virtually all the trees, and a huge range of flora and fauna too. You can see old boundary ditches crossing it indicating past domestications, though improved land now long neglected. There's plenty of history you can't see too, I've learned that from local elders, of what it was like 70-80 years ago when Highcliffe was still 'The Village', of troops billeted here just before D-Day, of post war prefabs and an baseball field left by the soldiers, of picking shrapnel from a German bomb out of an old oak in the 50's, or of the fondly remembered play park of the 60's-70's now long gone. Those stories are the history of the common land, told by the common people, too often overlooked in history. All those things now disappeared under nature's recolonization. We walk here most days, to some extent or another, I see the seasons change in the common's face, over the last 20 years I've seen the common change too, more trees, less heathland and grassland. I'm not complaining we need more trees. And as you can imagine, it's a packed store of natural resources; a wide range of seasonally available resources which I frequently avail myself of. It's really quite wondrous place, natures magic right on my doorstep. 

Fuligo septica

 

 Yellow Slime Mould (Fuligo septica)

Wet summer woods

Were there such a thing as a 'greenometer', it would surely explode if turned on in the forest at the moment. The rains have the streams up, seasonal channels flowing and the ground sodden, they've brought a unusual green glow to the stands too, there's an iridescent verdancy saturating everything. It's like spring on steroids rather than summer, though the flora tells you it is in fact summer. It's an otherworldly woodland at the moment, Elfin-esque, an unreal seasonal mix, and quite magical for it. The forest drinks deeply...its been a long time coming. 

Sunken Sentinel

Sunken Sentinel on a stormy shore.

Bough down

I know unseasonal weather has always been a thing, it's a regular retort from the climate crisis naysayers, though it's different today, our intervention in the last 250 years is a dangerous variable. One of the aspects of change I've noticed most over the last two decades is the increasing wind speeds we get throughout the year. It's one thing strong winds through the winter months when the trees are bare, though through the summer months when the canopies are full is another thing altogether, a frequently destructive thing. Combine that with a noticeable increase of extremes, see-sawing from saturated to desiccated, weakening many trees tenure, stressing them and making them vulnerable. After yesterdays winds (which weren't really that strong), there was damage to be seen, only a couple of trees over (that I saw), though plenty of bough damage. Here, on the edge of Brinken Wood, a huge Oak had lost a mighty bough. Well, more than just a bough, it represented about a quarter of the tree's canopy. Bummer.

Storm clouds threaten.

I do love the clouds, no matter threatening, they are a wonder.

Burley Old again.

I was forest bathing (the Japanese art of shinrin-yoku), in Burley Old again today, well, why wouldn't you? They say it originates in Japan, and maybe recognizing its benefits and creating an associated philosophy did, although really it's just coming home, accepting that we have always had a connection with the natural world, we are part of it, and it's our disconnection from it that lies at the heart of much of societal malaise. Up until a couple of hundred years ago, time with nature wouldn't be something that had to be sought out, it would have been our lives. The turning wheel of the year and seasonal changes, these would have been the only clocks and calenders we required, 'a time for everything and a season for every activity' as put in Ecclesiastes 3. I know that's an Old Testament reference, and me a pagan too, although as with much Christian doctrine, on inspection its roots lie in pre-Christian beliefs, so strong, so undeniable, that they and several of the pagan figures had to be incorporated. It's a shame that Abrahamic religious paths, with their dominion over nature nonsense, lead people away from natural connection in many respects. One of humanities Achilles heels is to see itself as separate to nature, or worse, much worse, above or even better than the natural world. For me, even as a child unable to express philosophical ideas, I loved being immersed in nature, I felt at home, connected to it, a love that has never waned, and a love that I feel reciprocated every day.

Great Huntley Oak

Great Huntley Oak

Flow

It hasn't taken much rain to have the forest streams flowing again. Only a week ago I was thinking how low Highland Water was, it was more bare gravel beds than stream, you could cross it at will for the most part.  Today it was flowing well again, and all of those easy crossings were gone, back to slippery fallen trunks or leaps of faith.

Remembering history

Maybe it was the same when I was a kid, though I really don't remember it being so, that remembering D-Day was such a politicized event. The act of remembering almost overshadowed by the rhetoric and jingoism of today’s political agendas, politicians and media commentators falling over themselves to lord the sacrifice of the Second World War generation, whilst conspiring to systematically dismantle and sell their legacy to the highest bidder. I despise it, it's an ugly spectacle. Even more so in our current political climate as we, and many more countries, flirt with the ideology that this wartime generation fought and died to thwart. I have deep respect for the elders of that generation, indeed my father was one of them (Burma), but little time for remembrance in its current weaponized form. Still, the gravity of the days history is not lost on me and I sought to recognize it, and them, through some ephemeral monuments left in the forest. The forest was heavily utilized throughout the war, and especially during the build up to D-Day, as a consequence over the years I've come across many examples of World War Two graffiti, with the majority of it being American graffiti...testament to the D-Day build up in the area. In Burley Old enclosure there are a cluster of pieces, there used to be more of them, although in recent years a couple have succumbed to time and the elements, whilst others I remember disappeared before I started to record them. I have no idea what units they represent nor how long they hung about, although one tree has 714th carved in it, and that was a American Tank Battalion... and parts of the enclosure show historic mauling by tracked vehicles. Anyway, that's all supposition. Today I visited a few of the remaining pieces to say hello and pay my respects, and one example in particular, carved in a veteran Beech beside a broad shallow ditched forestry track, it reads 'O.K.Reel, 1944, OC'. I've passed O.K.Reel frequently over the last 30 years and often wondered how he fared. I like to think Reel survived the war and went on to have a long a fulfilling life, maybe he's still going, I hope so. War looks shit.

Foxy

Beautiful Foxgloves (Digitalis purpurea), reign throughout Brinken Wood, Camel Green and Great Huntley Bank, their wonderful purple flowers like amethyst jewels when caught by the sun, punctuate the verdant greens of the stands. They're putting on quite a show this year.

Meadow

The front lawn has never been up to much, I think it's been neglected for years, and since we've lived here all I've done is keep it tidy so not to annoy the neighbours. Lawn has always appeared a bit of a waste to me, the sterility of  it is not for me. I'm usually quite lax with mowing anyway, but this year I decided to expand on that, and I haven't bothered cutting the lawn yet this year, and it turns out it wasn't really a lawn after all, it's a meadow of flowers with only occasional intermittent grasses.  I don't know what the neighbours think, but the insects appear to love it...which is nice to see.

The dump

I've seen Christchurch grow and change over the years, in some respects beyond recognition as time and unrestrained urban sprawl marches on relentlessly. Often the changes feel negative, as if something is being lost, which is usually true as pockets of nature are nibbled, bitten off and consumed. This afternoon I cycled into town, along the coast, past Mudeford Quay and over Stanpit. When I was a child Stanpit was the site of the dump, an open council rubbish tip. I remember grubbing about amongst the rubbish like 'Stig of the dump', finding all manner of curiosities, well, it was the 70's. Years later the whole site was buried and landscaped, and subsequently turned into a 9 hole golf course. That golf course has now gone, and the landscape turned into a wildlife area, only in it's infancy the area has massive potential and is a fantastic addition the natural character of the harbour. From the former golf course's raised position you've got great views over the reed flanked rivers of the Stour and Avon, across the marshes, and over the tidal harbour to Hengistbury Head, and all around you nature has already begun to exert dominion, reclaiming what's rightfully hers. This is a positive change I can happily embrace.

Holding the line

Remnants of a time when we needed to protect ourselves from a threatened invasion from an increasingly agitated and aggressive Isle of Wight still litter the intertidal of East Dorset and West Hampshire. Thankfully a treaty was signed with the mainland promising to leave the islanders in peace, and invasion was averted. That was nearly 40 years ago now, and still nothing has been heard or seen of the illusive islanders. The mind can only boggle.

Purest green

I'm loving Camel Green at the moment.  Like Lord Percy, I marvel in joy at this forest nugget of purest green.

A river ran through it

Fletcher's Water once ran through here, one of the longest sections of straightened 'drain' in the forest, it's restored course now meandering just out of frame on the right. I'd not walked this way for quite a while until recently, and wow, what a transformation. The stream now meanders quietly through growing diversity, itself transformed from sterile to fecund with increasing variety in aquatic and wetland flora. As I say, Fletcher's Water was the straightest of drains, but also its woodland environs were choked with willow and spiky thicket, that too has been improved. Cleared of a lot of the invasive willow and thicket, the woodland has been opened up, it feels more balanced and can now develop through natural agency. And it all looks good too.

Muggy day

Sea mists hung heavy over the Purbeck Hills this morning, even flooding parts of the Corfe Valley, and as we started off up on to the ridge you'd have been tricked into believing it was quite a nippy day. I was tricked into thinking that. On the way out, up onto Brenscombe Hill it was a touch chilly, although as we descended into the Corfe Valley that swiftly changed and it turned out in fact a muggy day. Throughout the valley the air was thick and still, occasionally the sun broke through the patchy cloud showing its growing strength.  Said patchy cloud though, along with the sea mists, then acted as insulation heating up valley and making for sticky walking. It was a relief when we climbed up the ridge towards Nine Barrow Down, and were enveloped by the cooling breeze sweeping the hillside. I'm not complaining, mind, it was a lovely walk...it's always lovely walking in Purbeck, the land holds its own special magic. I enjoy walking between very different environmental worlds too, and Purbeck is all about that, a fascinating mosaic of environment types, grassland, a variety of agricultural land types, hedgerows and woodland, not to mention the coastal hills, beaches and dramatic cliffs. It's a world in itself, Purbeck.

Fruit de Mer Records The 16th Dream of Dr Sardonicus Festival of Psychedelic live double album

 (photos Fruit de Mer Records)

We're currently blessed with a good field of top draw independent record labels releasing treat after treat to tickle our fancy and furnish our aural requirements. Though in my opinion Fruits de Mer Records represents a label which is a cut above the rest. The labels releases are always not just of the highest quality, both musically and production, they're something more, something special, unique artists, whether performing their own works or innovative interpretations they're always original and often sublime sounding. There's not been a thing I've heard I've not enjoyed, and many I've absolutely loved; for the new music I've been introduced to through FdM I'm continually grateful, bands such as The Luck of Eden Hall or the Soft Hearted Scientists, man, I could go on and on, honestly the list is endless. Oh for bottomless pockets. Anyway. Each year the label organizes a few all dayers and small festivals, by all accounts every one a fabulous event. Fruits de Mer also appear to excel at curating and creating outstanding compilation albums (it was through some of their compilation CD's in a friends car that I first got turned on to the label). Fruit de Mer Records The 16th Dream of Dr Sardonicus Festival of Psychedelic is a live double album on lovely clear blue vinyl which highlights their creative genius at both compilations and events. What a beautiful aural journey, man, with bands, several I'd heard of, several I hadn't, all giving great performances, an eclectic mix which flows seamlessly with absolutely no filler. I say eclectic as all the acts bring something different in style and sound, though all sympathetic and supporting of each other and the albums psychedelic ambiance, carrying you blissfully along on a stream of glorious flavoured psychedelia. Side one kicks of with two tracks from the wonderfully folky Elfin Bow with Elizabeth Anne Jones gentle enchanting vocals (check out Elfin Bow's lovely FdM single release, bliss), one track a subtly stunning Denny cover, the other a charming self penned number with traditional DNA; and side four finishes off with the raucous saxaphonic sounds of legendary space rocker Nik Turner's New Space Ritual.  I said it was a journey, man. It's a journey along a road paved in gold too, favourites like Stay, Consterdine and Sendelica, as well as (new to me), I am Voyager one, Fellowship of Hallucinatory Voyagers, The Alain Pire Experience and The Fertility Cult, all showcasing what they can do live...and it's quality throughout. My only problem...more bands for my list of bands to look out for, oh but what a problem to have, ay. Every track on this album is a real gem, a fantastic reminder for those lucky enough to have been at the festival, of what sounds like a great event, and a fabulous advertisement for the joy which is Fruits de Mer Records. As with previous FdM releases the quality is assured, the recordings are solid, the clear blue vinyl is a lovely pressing, and the sleeves are quality too (and interesting), man, the package as a whole is class. Sadly this release is currently sold out (it showed 'last few copies' when I started this post, it may be available through other stockists...maybe?), though check out the Fruit de Mer Records site you wont be disappointed, there are many more treasures to be discovered there, and get on their mailing list to avoid future disappointment, their July releases look terrific! Thank you Fruits de Mer.

Crimson Clover

Back on the edge of the Chase again, building a more complete mind map of the landscape. I like it when I know a landscape, but what I really enjoy is getting to know and understand that landscape, walking all those new paths, seeing where resources are to be found, joining the dots to see the bigger picture. One of the paths we followed today was flanked by a wide border of Crimson Clover (Trifolium incarnatum), what a beautiful sight. This ruffled mosaic landscape is a treasure trove of hidden beauty and secret timeless places.

Pugnuts

Pignuts thrive in huge numbers amongst the coppiced hazel, holly and oak of the deciduous woodland crowning Whitsbury Hill, it's wonderful to see them in such large numbers.

Sanctuary

Sometimes life's trials and tribulations weigh heavy on you like Marley's chains, crushing mind, body and soul. When you feel as if you're circling life’s plughole struggling to to get a purchase, the forest is always there reaching out to throw you a lifeline.  As the forest takes you by the hand you feel a tangible mental and physical release, you breath in deeply as you're enveloped by the trees, you feel your spirit buoyed by their embrace, and audibly sigh as you breath out your troubles.  I cherish the woods, and am indebted to them.

May's Moon

May's Full Moon.

Alien?

''Few men even considered the possibility of life on other planets and yet, across the gulf of space minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded this Earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely they drew their plans against us.'' (War of the Worlds) Or......it could be a good sized Dustbin Lid jelly fish (Rhizostoma pulmo), it's all down to your point of view. 

Curious

Noticed the first Beech Mast of the season, well, the cases of anyway, good size they are too.  Initially I thought they were curiously early, although on reflection, we are nearly in June. Still though.

A veiw to a kill

As we walked through Burley Old this morning we took the route which passed the decaying stump of a woodland leviathan. I've mentioned the tree in the past, it's one of my 'notable trees', a huge old Beech stump, which by it's size and nature I'd suggest pre-dates the 1700 enclosure...it really is that huge, way beyond any of the veteran trees of the wood. As we passed I saw a small furry face with big ears peer through one of the stumps many holes, having seen us it swiftly disappeared. It was a fox cub probably on one of its first forays. May is when the cubs are weaned of their mothers milk and the Vixen will bring small prey for it to learn from. On investigation, that's just what I found. Looking into the huge hollow stump I could see a mauled European Green Woodpecker adjacent to one on several holes disappearing underground. A Woodpecker would surely be too swift and agile for an inexperienced cub to catch. I didn't hang about and deftly moved away and on with our walk. Seeing foxes in the forest always makes me smile, as I'm still taken a back by them being there, seeing them so frequently in town I still imagine them as urban creatures, silly really. I feel blessed that the forest allows me the opportunity to see nature in all its many guises, and that nature continually teaches me, even if some of what I see and learn can be quite grizzly.  Nature has many faces.

Hawthorns

The Hawthorns are in full bloom throughout the forests woodland, whichever direction you look their clean white blossom shines. It's at this time of the year that you realize just how big a part of the forests matrix, and how abundant, they are. 

Just a peek

I've mentioned Mythago Wood on several occasions as a book which has had, and continues to have, a huge influence on my interpretation and interactions with woodland. Mythago Wood is the first book in the Mythago Cycle of novels, followed by Lavondyss. In Lavondyss the main protagonist Tallis is the younger sister of a character from Mythago Wood, who at the end of the book was lost in the Wood. In short, Tallis carves a series of wooden masks through which she can see the wood through time and space and with them travel to those different places and times. For some reason gateways have always held a strange significance for me, and although I understand the books are fiction, I also understand truths can be found in surprising places, as I've frequently found. I've always enjoyed walking between paired trees, I still do, wondering, possibly hoping (I say 'possibly hoping', I definitely *am* hoping) that I'll find myself in another manifestation of the world, a changed world. I know, I'm a total fantasist, what the hey. At the bottom of Glastonbury Tor there used to be a cleaved tree with a path through it, I would always approach the Tor through it, it took on a ceremonial meaning for me, a transition into the sacred. I was saddened when over time one side inevitably succumbed to the time and the elements and fell. Anyway, I digress. Since reading Lavondyss I can't pass a tree with a hole through it without peering through in the hope of seeing that changed alternative reality. And, although I haven't seen it yet, it doesn't mean that I wont. I want to believe.

Drying up

The forest has changed massively since the restoration program, old water courses filled in, even older water courses reopened and renewed, and overall the stream environs becoming wetter and more seasonally lush. The main reason for this is that the streams flow slower and the woodland now retains the seasonal waters for longer. It's changed how you can traverse the wet season forest, making some areas impossible to navigate without wellies. Though, at this time of year though the waters are receding, with many of the more ephemeral water courses are returning to their 'wadi' (dried seasonal stream bed) state, only flowing for a few months a year. This is nowhere more apparent than in Brinken Wood, which in a particularly wet season can be near aquatic for months, with even the dry looking bits actually being sodden underfoot. To me it's the season of the old tracks, the routes I traditionally wandered throughout the year before the restoration. I like the changes, mind, it adds to the forests magic and seasonal differences that define the wheel of the year. If you were to dig into these seemingly dry 'wadis' though, you'd find some will continue to flow underground throughout the year, a good bit of survival knowledge to have, as even in the driest season  digging a 'gypsy well' may supply you with much needed water. The forest has much to teach and much to offer in the way of resource.

Garlic wood

Even though the Ramsons of Norden Wood are going to seed after another glorious seasonal display, the woodland still looks gorgeous and remains heavy with the scent of garlic. A fairytale wood at this time of year.

Camel Green

The glorious greens along the restored course of Highland Water as it meanders through Camel Green on todays' forest walk. The restored section of stream was only completed in 2013, although already it's hard to imagine the stream flowed anywhere else, if you didn't know the area beforehand, you never know. Today the forest was particularly beautiful, even though I'm frequently out here, I never lose the wonder, the forests magic never fades or tarnishes. 

Enclosure Banks

You'll find that the banks which define the forests forestry enclosures are often kept clear. Some are eroded to the point of being little higher than the surrounding land, their ditches filled to invisible, whilst others like the one which surrounds Burley Old enclosure retain a significant portion of their original height. I take great pleasure in walking around these features, although only slightly raised there's something different about walking them, a different perspective on the woodland...also dry walking during the wet seasons, which is always a bonus. I don't know if they were originally maintained, ditches cleared regularly and banks topped, though if not those that have survived are very well preserved. Burley Old was enclosed in 1700, and is one one the earliest of the forest's enclosures, so for its banks and ditches to remain so well defined is quite remarkable. That said, if left in peace, earthen features will endure, just think of the prehistoric boundaries which still remain clearly visible in our landscape.

Gnarly Oak

I love the forest's gnarly Oaks, standing proudly in defiance throughout their final trimester. I say trimester, as an oaks life is divided into three portions, growing, living, decaying, each can be up to three hundred years in duration. Like natural sculptures, fashioned by time, the elements and the myriad insects and creatures who shape the forest, they are as much works of art as anything found in an art gallery.

Blackbird

A Blackbird (Turdus merula) egg, I think? This one didn't make it to hatching, probably stolen and consumed by a predator. I didn't know Blackbirds will raise 3 broods a year, sometimes 4. You'd think you'd see more of them about, and if other birds reproduced as prolifically you'd think the canopies and sky would be packed with birds. It's not though, is it. That should be food for thought, really.

Yellow Archangel

Yellow Archangel (Lamium galeobdolon) is a member of the dead Nettle family, there are around 50 members of the dead nettle family, all bringing colour to our countryside. I think they're a wonderful family of plants, all have delicate and intricately fashioned flowers, and all display admirable fortitude and endurance in the environmental corners in which they'll survive and thrive.  Though to see them at their best, is to see them on mass in a woodland setting, augmented with other coloured spring blooms...wonderful. Though many would describe them as a 'weed', silly people, what really is a weed after all. 

May Blossom

Right on cue the forest's queens of May come into bloom.

Cam Valley Morris, Beltane @ Glatonbury Tor.

Come rain, shine and anything in-between, the Cam Valley Morris never fail to dance in Spring on top of Glastonbury Tor. 

Beltaine on the Tor

The wheel has turned (as if it ever stops) and we find ourselves at a pivotal point in its rotation, and the greater sabbat which I love the most...Beltane. It's become a pilgrimage for me to travel through the night to Glastonbury Tor in order to watch the sun's rising. I was talking to Arch-druid Rollo atop the Tor, remarking that this year was somewhat of an anniversary for me, it's 30 years since I stood in a circle participating in a druid open ceremony, and it was with Rollo leading it. That was at Stonehenge, significant in itself, as it was at the Stonehenge Free Festival in 1984, whilst feeling unusual *winks* and listening to Hawkwind's magical sounds, that I watched white robed Druids amongst the stones, a door opened, and I became aware of a path I needed to explore.  In 1990 I first stood up here on the Tor to watch Bel rise at the festival in his honour, it was a time of awakening in paganism and the small hilltop was thronged with all-sorts of folk enjoying the experience of celebrating the changing season together, many for the first time. I've not looked back, and other than 2 years (the foot and mouth closure, and illness), I've climbed the tor side in all weathers, though always with a smile. Here, high above the misty vale of Avalon, you can't help but feel the magic, and on a properly misty morning it's easy to imagine how magical this isle must have been when the surrounding lowland was an inland sea and wetland (draining began during the Roman period). This morning the sun's rising was mostly masked by our old friend cloud, though we were gifted a glimpse of Bel's glory, to the joy of those gathered (it's that little orange dot peeking through).  Beltane blessing to y'all, I hope the seeds of your dreams and desires sowed at this time, fall on fertile ground.