Escape

Even on the tops you can see our hand. There are no buildings to block the gaze, no streetlights, no cars or tarmac. But giant skeletons walk the ridges and lichened walls snake and tumble into the peaty grass. On days free from the kitchen, I'd lie star-shaped and imagine being pulled through the clouds into space. Far and away from the clutter and clatter of life. 

I avoided the dog walkers, the beiged-trousered men with Trepass ruckpacks, the mittened children and instructive parents. I had no dog, no backpack, no child. And for that, I felt odd.