Scout Scar escarpment, all else lost in mist Landmarks are gone, swallowed whole in mist and low cloud. It is disorientating. We read a landscape, read a route by looking ahead for what is to come, for known features. With only the ground at our feet and a hundred yards around us we focus and think detail. Senses are heightened. The morning is silent and still and sound carries, natural sounds. Nuthatch call in the wood below the escarpment. I hear the ewes of Barrowfield Farm, lost to view.
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