Strolling where the Heather blooms

I climbed the hill up from the village, through the gate, and took the short track  to the moorland beyond. I come up here often – Lastingham Ridge on Spaunton Moor.

The walk slowed to a stroll.  Heather just coming into bloom. Faint scent of honey.  I’m thinking of ways to describe the scene, and the effect it has on the soul.

Taken from the preface in the book The Heather in Lore, Lyric and Lay  by Alexander Wallace – these words say a lot

Ruskin, in one of his friendly lecture-talks on art, with the sympathetic spiritual perception and originality  of thought which characterize his unique genius, says

“Now, what we especially need for educational purposes, is to know, not the anatomy of plants, but their biography – how and where they live and die, their tempers, benevolences, distresses and virtues.” 

And could we find for such a flower biography a subject more entrancing, so seductive, almost eerie, so plaintively sturdy, so instilled with romance, with patriotism and with pathos, as Heather?

Actually it said Highland Heather, and this is North York Moors Heather, Spaunton Moor Heather, Lastingham Heather, but I don’t think that matters, the meaning still applies.  So, I’ll simply stroll and enjoy the magic of plant and place.