land of bracken and bone

the moor knows me better than I know myself

The land was there, deep in my bones, dormant and waiting.

I had all but forgotten the house at the edge of the moor, the walled garden that stood on the boundary between town and wild. I had pushed from my mind the hollow, twisted trees on the hillside, the haunted castle, the icy stream, the wind in my hair. I had forgotten the land, but the land had not forgotten me: as a baby it had carried me for my first ever steps and it held me close, weaving itself through me as I grew. I moved away from the moor, but it remained a part of me. The moor remembered me, even when I did not remember the moor.

The moor knows me better than I know myself.

Last year, for the first time in decades, I returned to Dartmoor—where I spent my early childhood—on a research trip for my book. I was searching for fog and I found it, but I also discovered so much more than I had anticipated: I found a full moon, an ancient rainforest, a secret quarry, a stone circle, a poet’s footsteps, a forgotten pub, a mystical pony and, up on a tor, swathed in white, I rekindled a part of myself that had for long years been hidden.

In the fog, I saw clearly. In the fog, I found myself.

{The full story of my trip to Dartmoor and what I found there is in my upcoming book Chasing Fog, which is now available to pre-order. If you’re outside the UK, Blackwells offer free international delivery.}

You can listen to my voice note from the edge of the moor here.