Sunday, 12 May 2013
Anna and I set off down the path by the gurgling stream which leads down to Week Ford, picking our way across boulders and trying not to get our feet wet in the boggy bits. This bit of the Moor always makes me think of scenes from A Midsummer Night's Dream, with its small twisted oak trees encrusted with silver lichen and velvety green moss. When we got to our swimming place the river was full, with a heavy current. We waded in and swam upstream, enjoying the softness and the particularly silky quality of the water in this part of the West Dart. The skies were overcast and everything felt soothingly faded and muted. On our way back we found an inscribed pebble that someone had left nestling by the path.