Until you come over the hill above Bakewell, there is no sign of it at all, but then, if you are lucky and the sun is out…and it is the right time of year… there is a dull streak of colour on the farthest horizon. It is at this point of my journey northwards that my face will break into the widest of smiles and my heart just sings. It takes another half an hour’s driving, with no lessening of that smile and an eager anticipation before the road climbs again and curves around a rock that towers above it… and then I am in heaven and heading for the first place to park.
It does not matter what has been on my mind, what worries or cares may have occupied my thoughts or what problems I may have to solve. It doesn’t matter how tired I am from the week or the drive, nor does it matter that I am supposed to be at my destination on time. A reply to my text about the heather elicits only an understanding ‘I take it you’ll be late then….‘ The only reason I wasn’t was that I had arrived with time to spare… time to find healing in the honey scented beauty of the heather for every possible ill.