A wavy wooden plank with symmetrical support lines for sturdying crosses a bubbling brook in the Peak District, Derbyshire, England. It is here one can envision giants loping on the hillside, trolls lolling under bridges, and wood nymphs dancing amongst the trees. Every so often you will be enticed to sit on a random and perfectly placed swing while you gaze at the lush green meadows and copper colored heaths.
The road to the throne begins with the new reaching and the fading light. When the lavender smells waft, when the plantlings are drinking, when the daily departures and drop offs disturb the sweet sounds of stillness. When the vistas, the scenery, the trails call ‘Come higher. Reach above. See what you can see, in our Bolivian valley.’
Cold crisp walks along the river thames at sundown with temperatures falling. Cool colors on the water's surface, white winter berries, sunlight on tufts of thick vibrant grass, and canal boats sleeping in the distance.
