The Beacons have seen Roman legions, Norman lords, SAS recruits and now our travelling caravan of brawny cobs. No GPS, just maps, instincts, and a strong reliance on the superior navigation of  two cocksure mares.

Rose and Kate caused quite a stir; throwing roadside tantrums, and obdurately denying us the grace of regaining our bearings. Yet every dance with disorder was worth its weight in saddle sweat..for those precious gallops  across the undulating theatre of the Beacons.

This is medicine. Time with a mirrored soul, on the edge of everything familiar, feeling the world turn slowly and kindly.

I'll leave you with Wordsworth, who captured the spirit of this landscape in his poem ‘Lines Written a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey’ 

"And I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear,-both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense. The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul of all my moral being."