HEATHLAND:

I live, surrounded by heathland, scrub basically - gorse, bracken, heather, and the odd windswept hawthorn tree. It might not seem the most picturesque, but it is magical in its own right. Mists are frequent, and silence is a norm. And if you are careful, and if you are patient, these are places where dimensions can slide, and where pathways can appear, pathways that were not there yesterday, and won't be there tomorrow. The heathland where I live, is a crossroads of magic and the mundane, of what can be, and what should not. A place to lose yourself, a place to be lost.