Heather Days

There's a second Springtime in the moors in early August. The heather is hushed and waiting. The air of anticipation rustles through the greyed branches. The patchwork swathes turn almost rusty as the colour begins to swell in the miniscule buds, before flushing its purple blushes out across the moors.

We have the pleasure of seeing the purple colour chart change from day to day. All the tiny heather-bud faces seem to open all at once; turning from a rusty mauve haze one day to an astoundingly vivid purple the next, spread across either side of the valley surrounding us. It is at its absolute peak right now; every tone of purple painted across the moorland, singing out its purple song.

On these still, warm August days the scent of the heather, which feels like a mix of dianthus and warm peat, lies heavy on the purple quilt. The myriad bees are industrious yet soothing; buzzing dipping and bobbing around the purple sea, making the most of the forest of tiny yet dense bell-shaped blooms.