Nine Barrows Down and the flow of time
In October last year, I walked on Nine Barrows Down - I'd parked the old Peugeot in a precarious layby, on the road to Studland - the light blue sky above was flawless - a careless, wonderful, radiant sky -
I made my upwards, through Kings Wood - the path climbed up through tall trees shielding the sides of the high chalk ridge - wild garlic covered the ground between the trees - in the proper season, you can see the small white flowers - van Helsing could gather great armfuls of the flowers here, to keep Lucy Westenra's throat safe -
I still could smell traces of the strong, dizzying, scent of the wild garlic - ahead of me, three slim deer jumped upwards through the trees - I could see their delicate heads for only a moment or two -
A very large field, like a small green sea, swept along the base of the ridge - I moved steadily uphill, looking at the sky showing above the high slender trees - bright green moss furred fallen branches -
On top of the ridge, I made my way through some bushes which tore at my jacket, emerging onto a clear roadway of grass, high in the air, running from Corfe Castle to Old Harry -
You could see, on one side, all of the islands and inlets of Poole Harbour - on the other, Swanage Bay and the town - every detail of the land and seascape was very clear, glittering with light -
I turned towards Corfe - in front of me were the barrows - smooth rounded domes of turf - like grounded flying saucers - perfectly shaped - I walked to the summit of one barrow - steps in the turf led me upwards - there was a shallow, circular, depression all around the barrow, like a moat -
I thought about the ancient peoples who had walked along this ridge -I imagined their bronze or iron swords, their rings, their songs - I wondered who had been placed within the barrows -
For a moment, before small thoughts filled my head, I felt the flow of time, pressing against my chest, washing down the ridge to the sea - I could even, for a second, see my place within this invisible flood - I was one of an uncountable multitude -
In October last year, I walked on Nine Barrows Down - I'd parked the old Peugeot in a precarious layby, on the road to Studland - the light blue sky above was flawless - a careless, wonderful, radiant sky -
I made my upwards, through Kings Wood - the path climbed up through tall trees shielding the sides of the high chalk ridge - wild garlic covered the ground between the trees - in the proper season, you can see the small white flowers - van Helsing could gather great armfuls of the flowers here, to keep Lucy Westenra's throat safe -
I still could smell traces of the strong, dizzying, scent of the wild garlic - ahead of me, three slim deer jumped upwards through the trees - I could see their delicate heads for only a moment or two -
A very large field, like a small green sea, swept along the base of the ridge - I moved steadily uphill, looking at the sky showing above the high slender trees - bright green moss furred fallen branches -
On top of the ridge, I made my way through some bushes which tore at my jacket, emerging onto a clear roadway of grass, high in the air, running from Corfe Castle to Old Harry -
You could see, on one side, all of the islands and inlets of Poole Harbour - on the other, Swanage Bay and the town - every detail of the land and seascape was very clear, glittering with light -
I turned towards Corfe - in front of me were the barrows - smooth rounded domes of turf - like grounded flying saucers - perfectly shaped - I walked to the summit of one barrow - steps in the turf led me upwards - there was a shallow, circular, depression all around the barrow, like a moat -
I thought about the ancient peoples who had walked along this ridge -I imagined their bronze or iron swords, their rings, their songs - I wondered who had been placed within the barrows -
For a moment, before small thoughts filled my head, I felt the flow of time, pressing against my chest, washing down the ridge to the sea - I could even, for a second, see my place within this invisible flood - I was one of an uncountable multitude -
Great photos and word images. I think we should do it at night.
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