And this morning I took the dog to a place where we go probably about 3 times a week, and I swear that there were twice as many little paths through the gorse as usual, and I kept feeling as though a door was just open behind me, which is a very odd sensation to have in the open air, I can tell you. I am tempted to go back next week in sunlight and make a map: those paths *must* have been there all along. Surely. I went along one of them, and it just stopped. Half way through a gorse bush. No more path. And I'm really not going to write down the stuff that came into my head at that point, because it would sound like fiction, and as fiction it would have been entertaining and rather fun, but there and then it was not fun at all somehow.
For the first time since moving here, I really do feel as though I'm living on top of an ancient battlefield. Which I am, though I don't suppose that has anything to do with it. Mist is always creepy stuff, but I don't remember it being so disturbing in other places I've lived.
Tonight I'm going to watch american telly and eat cheesy chips and be extremely prosaic and sensible.