Commoning

The windswept patch of land where I always seem to find myself

One of my favourite places to be is Popples Common. It lies between two small villages, up on the moors, and looks out across a landscape of wooded valleys, rich pasture and wild uplands. The skies are vast and ever-changing, the winds blowing from all directions all at once.

The topography - being in the Pennines - means the Common slopes upwards, steeply in places. Paths crisscross all over it, from rutted tracks to narrow runs made by furtive animals which thread their way trough the long grass and tussocks of reeds.

In wet weather, peaty pools form here and there. In summer it buzzes with insects and rings with birdsong; in winter, ravens gather and take off again in clouds of flapping black, like dozens of graduation caps being thrown into the air.