The landscape of the Forest rolls out in vast swells.
Golden grasses bend to the breeze, their feathered tops painting the colourless sky.
Gorse throws bright yellow splashes against the spiky, spiny darkness of its armour - yellow for danger perhaps?
Fern stubble is everywhere, paused, waiting to unbend its hidden spirals into warmer air.
Every dip in the land holds a stream or a pond, filling and emptying with the changes in weather.
The wind buffets the ground, drying the walks and stealing my breath as I stride into it, head up, invigorated.