For the Land

a life in service

For five years now I have come to know this parcel of land, this haven of wild and quietude, as my home and sanctum. The last eighteen months living on and with it, hardly leaving it, eating the sheep that eat the heather that eats the soil and bathing in the rain that falls. Days roll into weeks and I am here, watching the mist rise up from the valley each morning and roll in from the hills at dusk. Every day I walk the land, planting my footprints in the soil and imprinting the lay of the land and the intricate details of spiralling mounds of red sphagnum moss and spires of heather into my soul, absorbing the light and the minerals and rain into my marrow.

I know where the frogs lay their spawn in bubbling piles of jelly and the tadpoles wriggle as they warm in the early spring sun. I know the scent of snow that blows in on a damp, north breeze and where water will still flow when the land is parched dry in summer. I know where to look for baby oaks unfurling through the heather in M…