The Old Roman Road

T’was on a stormy Autumn day that we set off up the hills to the old Roman Road. They had constructed it from rock as straight as an arrow across the hills. Designed to allow access of chariots and soldiers. It spoke of strength and permanence and was built with muscle and knowledge. Now it was decayed into rubble.

Nothing lasts but the beauty.

The day had its beauty too, with its ominous stormy clouds, the rocky tors, sheep, rocks and heather.

The sun even broke through for minutes at a time.

So this is it. All that is left are the rocky remains of the base of rocks. One could only stand and look down its length into the distance and wonder at the sights it would have held in its pomp. A road down which legions marched to quell the natives, chariots thundered and the might of the Roman Empire was brought to bear. Now just a long pile of rubble. But the beauty persists.

Then back down the hills, past the brook and across the stream on the ancient stones. for a beer in the pub.

There is something magical about the moors.