It was beautiful in the Peak District this afternoon. Beautiful but cold. No flowers, no birdsong. Yet.
I love the layers of this landscape: the way it repays closer scrutiny. The shadows, the tree, the puddles. The road; the obvious. Moving out into the open. The new fence and the older gateposts. Then, the abandoned gatepost in the field to the left. Memories, in the land, of older boundaries and routes. Dark, the dotted line of the molehills, mapping a subterranean system older than the farmland above it.
Fading, changing, working. In the far distance, the cold aloofness of the hills.
More Peak District beauty.