At dusk the pines around our camp became burnished in sunsetty shimmers.
From the crackly glow of the campfire we were looking up through the high heads of the pines
Into a voluminous darkness of sparkly glitters.
Being up on Dartmoor gives you that deep sensual awareness of night being properly distinct from day.
So many stars. You forget just how many stars there are up there.
Millions of millions.
Stars just about everywhere you can see.
Spreading out as far and as deep as your imagination can reach.
These pines seemed to be guiding our way in, giving us privileged access.
Paintings: Hazel Brown; Words; Ian Nisbet