cheerfulWhen we reached the hilltop, the gaps in the clouds began to open up, and the low sun coming up over Dartmoor touched first the distant sea, turning it a holiday blue, then crept on to the Hamoaze, making the Tamar a river of glowing gold, and Plymouth look like a fairy city, all golden towers (if only Plymouth were really like that!).
When the clouds finally opened over our hill, the grey and black land lit into colour: deep glowing russet of wet bracken, bright green moss, the long grass tawny yellow, the whortleberry stems a deep red, on the brambles, brilliant crimson and yellow leaves flying like torn flags, and all the thousand pools and little streams a reflecting blue a few shades darker than the sky. We splashed along the paths that had become streams, and the water was very clear over the gravel and grass below : most of the mud that had covered the paths earlier this week had washed away. Hounds leaped about in delight, sending showers of shining droplets in all directions.
It was so good, we went again at the end of the day, and watched the huge sun sink behind the bare trees. The clouds in the West were shot with first orange, and then a shining red, almost like silk, while the clouds dotted across the East were indigo and delicate pink. As the sun went down, the land turned golden, then quickly lost all colour, while the sky darkened to a deeper blue and the moon brightened.
I bloody love November, even though I found some mud on the evening visit and fell over into it, dying myself an unpleasing and chilly brown. :-D
