I am walking through a pale darkness and strong wind and somewhere near or in my head I can hear the howling of a hound, of the Baskervilles. Through fog structures of emptiness, accents, contrasts fall on me. Maiden and Man Rocks, rock tors from the ancient Mesozoic or Tertiary eras, chaos high and wide. Allegedly, a young shepherdess died nearby. I am alone, I get lost, drenched, freezing cold, I am flying through infinity or infinity flies past me.
I am diminishing. I am walking through a tunnel of leaning spruces and dwarf pines, the path and the steps that I walk up are paved with thousands of facets of mica slates. I sit down on the edge of the tundra, an island over the clouds torn to ribbons, in the distance there are grazing meadows and around me, waterlogged peatbogs. Ancientness and spaciousness descend on me, I have to go, quickly, quickly, away from here before it is too late … I am pursued by lichens and algae, on grey rocks as well as green and red, I am wading and descending.
So majestic, so beautiful, so strange, rough, deaf, and full of magic.