There Is A Mist Hanging In The Air
Climbing out of our tour bus, I invite everyone to ‘walk this way’….. I navigate my way to a ‘rubble field’ on the moor…. One of many such piles of stones that stretch away into the distance. I stand between two stones…. A doorway…. And I invite them into my home. Nine intrepid explorers and myself step back in time as we cross the ancient threshold and into a home that was last lived in four thousand years ago. I ask everyone to take a seat on one of the stones that make a crude circle amongst the marsh grasses and peat bogs of Dartmoor. We all sit. There is a mist hanging in the air and a couple of Dartmoor ponies graze peacefully on the tor ( a volcanic plug made of granite), in the distance…..it’s peaceful. As everyone breaths, our breath turns into steam and is taken away on the soft moorland breeze, that in turn makes us wrap our jackets around our bodies for warmth. I start to tell everyone about the lives of the folk who once lived in this house…. How they lived, what the...