There is an old gate next to my home which leads to the moor. There is an old sheep track that leads along the banks of the river. This is a wonderful place to walk if you want to be close to nature. One of my walks inspired me to write the poem Through the Old Gate; here is an excerpt.
Through the Old Gate
Through the old gate, which leads to the moor,
Is a wilderness, vast and pure.
A windy track weaves up the rise,
With heather and moss on every side.
I dip to the low ground, on the moss of green,
Which oozes water, translucent and clean.
Two burns merge on the lower ground,
Burbling and gurgling, with a calming sound.
I rise again towards the brown crags
Where the grass is strewn with yellow flags.
I find a rock to sit on and rest,
And breathe sweet air as I look to the west.
This wonderful place is a gift to us all,
Drawing us back with its wilderness call.
I lay my phone on the riverbank to film the clouds floating in the blue sky when, suddenly a curlew flew overhead with its eerie call.