The hills came alive, beyond the beaten track

"England truly is a writer's paradise", she breathed out in an awed whisper as the verdant and glorious landscape of undulated mid England scenery galloped by.

"This country is akin to a perpetual never ending forest". This inspiring and breathtaking wonder greeted us on our wander through Europe.

Glimpses of life betwixt the mystical greenery waved hello and goodbye as we passed by, and her childish joy in the beauty around us roused us from our lethargy.

Yesterday we went traversing through the English countryside and the four complacent bodies in the vehicle paid little heed to the scenery until she spoke in whispered awe of nature passing us by.

She then began explaining:

"I imagine myself sitting upon the shires, reading, as the wind fights with the sun to garner my attention.

I imagined Shakespeare walking the hills of Stratford-Upon-Avon, breakfasting at 'The Hill Cottage bed and breakfast' and creating masterpieces in the sun room with its views of orchards and splendid picturesque views.

Conan Doyle upon the moors with the Hounds of the Baskervilles and Sherlock's fascinating narcissistic genius dazzling us with its brilliance.

Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte and Agatha Christie all smiling as we passed by, waving hello to the funnily dressed strangers.

I hear the long distant past voice of Olaudah Equiano way back in 1745-1797, when he wailed as he was born

And when, not many years later, left this earthly plain way too soon but protesting to the end. Oloudah lectured against the cruelty of British slaveowners. He spoke against the English slave trade as he worked to resettle freed slaves.

Imagine a slave back then buying his own freedom and travelling the world.

His triumphant voice still protests as he shouts that we have forgotten.

Some of us still remember, Oloudah", she yells back to the fussing trees

~~~~~~~~

So it was, that on this crisp autumn morning, we set out for a walk upon the moors and shires of England, a journey that promised both solitude and the beauty of nature. The sky was a canvas of soft blues and grays, with the sun peeking through the clouds, casting a golden hue over the landscape.

Our adventure began in the quaint village of Buxton, nestled in the heart of the Peak District. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. As we ascended the now wooded Grin Low, the path led us to Solomon’s Temple, a hilltop folly offering panoramic views of the surrounding countryside. From this vantage point, the vast expanse of Axe Edge Moor stretched out before us, a patchwork of heather and grasses swaying gently in the breeze.

The moor was a place of quiet contemplation, where the only sounds were the distant calls of birds and the rustling of the wind. We followed a narrow path that wound its way through the moorland, occasionally crossing small streams that sparkled in the sunlight. The terrain was varied, from broad grassy paths to boggy stretches that tested our balance and resolve.

As we continued, we reached the picturesque Three Shires Head, where the counties of Staffordshire, Cheshire, and Derbyshire meet. Here, the River Dane cascaded over rocks, creating a series of small waterfalls that added a soothing soundtrack to the scene. The ancient Panniers Bridge was historical of this crossing point, it was once used by packhorses carrying goods between the shires.

After a brief rest by the river, we resumed our trek, climbing steadily towards the high ground of Cheeks Hill. The path took us past remnants of historic mining activities, now overgrown and blending seamlessly with the natural landscape. The views from the top were breathtaking, with the rolling hills and valleys of the Peak District unfolding in every direction.

Descending into the Upper Dane Valley, we passed through the highest village in England, Flash. The village was a charming collection of stone cottages, their chimneys puffing out wisps of smoke that mingled with the crisp air. The local pub, Flash Bar, offered a warm respite, where we enjoyed a hearty meal and the company of fellow walkers.

The final leg of our journey took us along the Cat & Fiddle Road, a quiet moorland valley with long views out to Combs Moss, Kinder Scout, and Bleaklow. The path was a former turnpike road, now a rough track that led us back towards Buxton. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the landscape, we felt a deep sense of peace and fulfillment.

Walking upon the moors and shires of England had been a journey of discovery, not just of the land, but of ourselves. The beauty and tranquility of the countryside had provided a perfect backdrop for reflection and renewal, leaving us with memories that would last a lifetime.

Beneath canopied tree lined byways and tiny country roads we drove

Upon the shires and moors we walked

"Imagine"... She reiterated, settling upon the grass to rest a bit:

"What stories I could write about the beauty and questionable past of this land

For surely,

The bards would shyly blush"!

Within this awestruck writer's wonderment, reverence and fascination, we had found our joy again!

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