Fingers of boggy wetland fill the hollows and shallow valleys of the forest, fed by springs and a filigree of rivulets, and helped massively by the regions underlying geology heavy with clays, they're the life blood of the landscape. Frequently hidden, neglected, avoided by walkers in favour of easier terrain, they're strange eerie places, often very quite and unusually still, chains of dark peat stained pools, fringed in places with wiry carr wood. Our ancestors believed these places spiritually significant, a boundary between worlds maybe, or a source life and renewal, to them powerful magic and/or deities dwelt here. Maybe they still do.
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