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Paradise lost

Jessie Greengrass, remembering her adolescence in north Dartmoor, England:

When it rained, as it often did, coming in sheets or as a fine, penetrating mist that soaked you as soon as you left home, the water from the bath taps ran brown with peat. At the edges of the roads deep gutters became temporary streams, and up on the hills the ponies, huddled in the lee of the tors, stood with their heads low and their hindquarters facing the wind. And this remains my most enduring image of home: coming down off the moor in the rain towards a town lit up against an early dark, the drift of chimney smoke and the promise of shelter.

April 7, 2018 in Books | Permalink