I love giant boulders and cliffs and rocks.
They look like wise old men of the ages – masculine, arrogant, protective (one shielded Lizzie and I from sideways rain).

Wildflowers, trees, heather…pretty, but fragile.
Temporary. Young. Easily flattened with careless trodding about.

Young, like little children tentatively tracing little leafy shoots out in capricious crayon squiggles all over the landscape.

There’s a grand old rock we saw on the way back to Grindleford station – christened “Mother’s cap”, which I find slightly ironic. It’s a big, square thing, all angles and crevices. But then picture a stiff, stately old matriarch, which is not difficult if you grew up in an Asian society – and then it makes sense!