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MOSS GROWS thick and soft as a sponge on the steep hedgebank of a sunken lane.At the end of the lane there's a small overgrown quarry that reminds me, in a way, of a similar spot on Dartmoor near Whistman's Wood. It's years since I was there and I'd love to take another walk on the Moor, but there isn't always the time to get out to truly wild places. But a walk along this local lane is, for me, a small dose of wilderness, an antidote for the pace and stress of everyday life. As the lane turns down towards the stone-built houses tucked in a side valley I'm always reminded of villages in the North Yorks Moors.
A Kestrel swoops down from an ancient Oak in the park and it's Kensington Gardens that comes to mind. I remember the wonderful feeling of getting away from my painting in the Royal College of Art and taking a lunchtime stroll around the Serpentine, the nearest equivalent I could find to open country in the middle of the city.
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In fact, lets face it, most places remind me of some other place. The bare Ashes and Oaks growing alongside the brook in this valley, remind me of the approach to Malham Cove, especially with a touch of weak autumn sun glinting on the greenish bark.
It's not that such places are look-alikes but they evoke something of the atmosphere of these special places.