Not so long ago, you could do a beautiful walk, from the valley down below the little hamlet of Fullabrook, up a sweet path through trees, that opens onto a hill. All you would see in the way of movement would be sheep and ponies grazing. I remember a particular walk, on a spring evening. It was so peaceful. It is not quite the same now. The hills look like the site for a gigantic motorway, great heavy vehicles trundle by for twelve hours a day, six days a week.
Imagine what is it like if you love solitude, and you have chosen to live somewhere quiet, somewhere peaceful, because you love the countryside. You love the solitude: you haven't asked for much, just to be left in peace to live your life the way you want to. You do not miss the bustle of the modern world, the conveniences of city life, you do not miss having shops nearby, you do not care if you are cut off during snowfall. You love your home, your hills. You may even have said that when you die you want your ashes scattered here, on the hill that you love so much. Where can you go to now? The Isle of Lewis? The Shetlands? The Australian Barrier Ranges? The Kansas Prairie? Nowhere is safe from the Wind Power Industry.
Here is a photographic record of another walk, started at Burland Cross, where the above photograph was taken.
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