I run in shadows in the sunken lane
And look above to laden oak leaved boughs
And see the turn from green to orange hue
And feel the sun go down in quickened hours.
On bracken fronds the webs are spun and clear
The wispy threads of clematis hang low
The Spindle with its orange fruits of fire
And leaves are kicked upon the road below.
The hedgerow fruits are laden and so ripe
For Crumbles and for jams for winter store
The apples drop and bruise upon the ground
The lane is dark and the air is raw.
The sun sets brightly low in western sky
The reddish glow sets the world
On fire
The dew already heavy on the grass
As I head home ready to retire.
I Sit in Shadows by Jane Dougherty

A sonnet style poem
I sit in shadows
Wild Swimming
Like a knife I cut the surface
Of the deep dark saucer of the pool
And plunge down
Breath catching
And rising
As toes and fingers
Are gripped by changing sensation;
The coldness
Seeps
Through
Warm skin
Like a battery charger
Creeping into every part of me,
Leaving the world I know behind
To join me to this new place
In automatic union
Of strange and raw freedom;
Where stress has vanished
Drawn by osmosis,
Creating equilibrium
In unknown depths
Of different rhythms,
Slowly Synchronised to my own;
Matching my strokes
To the draw of the current;
My toes flexed
Against a hidden force,
Breath is even
Energised and ready
Awareness is sharpened
The view is flattened
Levelled with nature;
I’m camouflaged
At one with the river;
My sight-line crossed
By those who travel other paths
Unfazed,
Unknowing;
The rules are changed.

Evening on The Slapton Line
Elemental beauty
Personified in the smile
Of the bay;
A ribbon of blue
Fading to pinkish grey;
The hue of the horizon
Giving way to a charcoal
Line - a smudge
Across the canvass
Of the silent sea
Save for the gentle
Rippling at the edge;
Soft roll of shingle
In and out;
In near darkness
Winking lights,
As vessels make their way
Into hidden ports;
Windows alight
From houses
Clinging like clams
To the rocks
Beyond which the luminescence
From the Lighthouse
Shines
White-
A beacon in the dark.
Summer Gone
Golden grasses hang
Suspended in warm air;
Gossamer threads string pearled strands
Across
In beaded chains;
Dew pools form
In grassy hollows.
Swallows have gone.
Blurred edges of the season;
Leaves torn by storm and rain;
Curled and ragged forms
Peppered lawns with
Debris strewn;
The party’s over-
The morning after.
On the brink of change;
Hold as we might to summer days;
We orbit on
Tilting from the sun until
Summer’s gone.
Perfect Evening Run
Perfect evening, still and warm. Beautiful views . Made even better by smashing 8 mins off my PB over 8km.
Wild Swimming at Sharrah Pool Dartmoor
The River Dart flows fast through and over granite rock. There are fast flowing rapids and turbulent waterfalls. We approached with more than a bit of a scramble having walked down from Venford Reservoir past the Venford Falls . After crossing the fast flowing stream we got to the River Dart and proceeded down stream . The path clawed the river’s edge and fallen trees caused numerous blockages. Several scrambles ensued and a climb up the rocks to join a higher path. Descending to Sharrah pool was steep but worth all the effort.

As the river straightens it travels over a set of falls into Sharrah Pool flanked on one side by flat granite rocks and sandy entry points.
This was a fantastic swim as the pool is long and deep. Fizzing and invigorating it so is and after coffee and biscuits before trekking back.
Brilliant way to end the summer.
Big Skies Over the Moor
Light box of the heavens
A Rembrandt sky
Painted and layered
An artist’s eye
Heaven drawn to earth
Held above
Shadows below
Clouds that grow
Flat lines drawn in swathes of grey
Threaten a warning given this day
Mist shrouds the moor
To the valley floor
Veiled and heavy
The clouds bear down.
A sweep of the brush
A stain of blue
Palette of colour
Transition of hue
Big skies and wide
Stretch across
This Dartmoor fell
Visual storytelling
Lines withheld
Breathtaking views
To hold in the eye
Outstretched hands
Cannot hold this sky .
Moorland Running 11km
Ever since walking this route with friends a few weeks ago, I have been itching to try it as a run. The route takes in a bit of everything: a gentle start through three fields, a gradual ascent up through meadows , woodland , ancient drovers’ tracks up to the moorland gate. Open moorland climbs stretches down through clear paths bordered by bracken and crosses a lovely stream by way of stepping stones. The climb is quite hard going over stones and moorland peat towards a clump of trees on the near horizon which is Glasscombe Corner. Turning there, the route follows a boundary wall. Several streams feed in here and stepping stones are easy. The incline rises over moorland grass and follows an ancient stone row to a burial cist. Reaching Ball Gate the views were amazing towards Shipley Bridge. Running from Ball Gate was exhilarating and fast over stones steeply dropping. The track became a stream and running was effortless over the stones to the grass track a km on. Once through the gate the path followed the wall and gorse and heather combined looked beautiful. Then the route enters a copse and a steep rise out of woodland keeping to the edge of common land until a gate is reached. A steep descent down a green lane makes easy work to reach the lane. It was quite muddy here but it was a fast section . The road at the bottom runs along the contour for a km before descending steeply into the valley. And then the lane crosses the stream and leads into the fields and back to the car.


I could see our village on the horizon 
View towards Glasscombe corner 
View towards Ugborough Beacon 
Looking back 

Ball Gate 
Looking on 
Blue
This was 11km with average pace of 8min per km. Surprisingly, although uneven, it was far gentler on knees compared to road and allowed me to keep the pace up. Trail shoes were a must and Salomon Speed Cross trainers performed well on the stones and uneven moorland terrain. Gortex ensured dry feet throughout even though there was a lot of boggy and wet terrain.
A Walk on the Edge of Moor around Haytor Vale
Sunken lanes
Protection given
Strength of trees
Anchored and firm
Roar of the wind
High above
Scurrying clouds
The Sun chasers
Bring
Curtained rain
A rainbow sheen
Primeval ferns
Olfactory senses
Stirred
Of woodland spores
Drenched in moorland
Dew
Spongy moss
Clings
To marbled granite
Quartz and feldspar
Flecked with mica
Strength imbued.
Babbling brook
Gurgling stream
Slate-hewn
Ford
Ancient crossing
Dry stone walls
And drover tracks
Hidden from view
Fan like veins
At moorland edge
Hold secrets
Deep in valley floor
And rise through gates
To lush green grass
Bracken deep
Flecked
With gorse and heather
Open skies
And granite tors
Wild and free.


















