Welcome to Harvest Moon, a place where the creatures and landscapes of my imagination take form and meet the world. Nestled in beneath the wild craggy tors of Dartmoor inspiration comes on chilly winds from moonlit landscapes of other realms which share this rugged, ancient land of gorse and granite. Living here I sometimes feel on a bridge between worlds and ages as the land speaks from spluttering streams and wind-beaten tors, telling stories of folk and beast, but only in snatches before the endings are whipped away down the valley with the broad river and out to sea. So here I will share these stories and characters and they can dwell in your own imagination, continuing their stories with infinite outcomes. This is how they live, enjoy them!

Saturday, 26 February 2011

Twin trees...

The buds are swelling and soon the trees will be flushed with pea-green leaves, lifting our hearts with colour but hiding from us their beautiful skeletons. I saw these twin trees on my ramblings through the fields and took my chance to capture their shared outline before they cover up for the summer.

Friday, 25 February 2011

After Imbolc....signs of life

Pussy Willow emerges early, wrapped up warm against the late frosts.
 Witch Hazel explodes with little sunbursts like woodland fireworks.
Hazel is dripping with golden catkins but the real treasure is found on closer inspection.

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

The Hedgling

The hedgehog is a humble beast, seemingly unaware of how universally adored it is by it's biped companions. I say 'companions' because part of what we love about them is their calm acceptance of our fascinated interest. I have had cause in the past to to redirect a spiky friend who may be happily pottering towards a busy street - and instead of complaining that I have so boldly interfered with it's trajectory (they move with purpose our little friends), it simply rolls up and waits to see what will happen next. I gently place it on the grass, careful to put what I think is the pointy end towards the hedge, and after a few seconds it slowly uncurls, sniffs the air and I can almost detect a resigned shrug as it obligingly walks toward the safety of the hedgerow. And when we get closer still we find an unusual reciprocation of bright-eyed interest and amiability. No biting, scratching or growling...just the low mumbling snort that gave them their name.

Monday, 14 February 2011

Lord, blow the moon out

this image immediately came to mind when i heard this beautiful verse of a traditional american folk song. The author must also have looked upon soft green hills, a patchwork quilt strewn with fleecy woodland copses. When softened further by silver moonlight you can just imagine peeling back the edge of a field and crawling under....mmm...goodnight...zzzzzZZZ

Tuesday, 8 February 2011


 Haytor and Rowan berries

 One of several small tors on Bonehill Down, between Haytor and Hound Tor

 Dartmoor is criss-crossed by paths like little streams where various kinds of feet - cloven, hooved or booted, have flowed over many. many years. We have shaped this landscape for millenia and continue to do so. It tells us much about our history, and following these pre-trodden pathways we are literally walking in the footsteps of our ancestors....be they ponies, sheep, deer or human!

In extreme contrast to the wind beaten tors, the valleys of south Dartmoor are lush and sheltered. The closest thing to a tropical rain forest you will find outside of the tropics! The forest floor is abundant ferns and grasses, mosses, liverworts and lichens dripping with dew. In the springtime the ancient banks of the sunken lanes see a succession of flowers burst from between the tangled tree roots - Primroses, Vetches, Stitchworts and Campions each taking their turn in a colourful procession from spring into summer. And now in February with the first Snow Drops open beneath the apple trees, the fanfare has started and excitement grows with the daylight hours.

Saturday, 5 February 2011

guinea moon

The guinea fowl spend their day rushing hither and thither, clucking and flapping in their little huddles with some mysterious sense of urgency. But as the sun slides back behind one hill and the moon rises above another, all goes quiet and oh, so still. Perched up in the apple tree and the magnolia beyond the foxes reach the guinea fowl sleep...but always with one eye open.

Friday, 4 February 2011

The hunters' moon rises with the setting sun. Moonlight transforms the spaces we know so well in the sunlight, enchanting them with a new wonder,drawing us away from the warm fire to walk the hills with the deer and stroll through the woods watched closely by the tawny owls....and perhaps other creatures....