First kiss
I cannot tell how many hundreds of miles of trackways I have trailed since I seriously began country hiking on my own in about 1978.
Certain photos, such as this spot near Chettle, in north Dorset, remind me of when I was hungry and tired, and my dizzy exhilaration resembles nothing so much as a lover’s trance.
I force myself to pause and compose a shot, to give reverence to this moment. I feel this green place flows with green blood and my urge is to honour the eternal green moment echoing among fertile valleys of timeless green silence.
My body becomes as a planted pin on this map, as deeply rooted, as noiselessly noisy, as long established, as identifiably hairy and branchy as all of the surrounding flora within eyes reach.
Then I move on and I walk out into new places.
There is a complete, all-in-the-round island universe in that image.
In all these mysterious images, I am compelled by the rumble of love that was conceived in my breast to stand breathless and then I press the button. I allow the camera to let in the light. Some elements of the fifth dimension – the green magic – remain in the freeze-frame scenes.
The beauty of it is, that these magics are still here, are as clear to me now, and as familiar, as my first lover’s kiss
The View at 72+ 