We picked our way over the grykes, their rims weathered into curves, into the center of the pavement. Their form was exquisitely complex,and the ridges and valleys induced brief losses of scale, so that they could have been satellite maps of mountain ranges or River deltas. Near the centre of the pavement,we reached a large gryke running north to south. We lay belly-down on the limestone and peered over its edge. And found ourselvelves looking into a jungle. Tiny groves of ferns, mosses and flowers were there in the crevasse- hundreds of plants, just in the few yards we could see, thriving in the shelter of the gryke; cranesbills, plantains, avens, ,ferns, many more i could not identify growing opportunistically on wind blown soil. The plants thronged every available niche, embracing one another into indistinguishanbility. Even on this winter day, the sense of life was immense. What the gryke would look like in the blossem of the month of may, i could not imagine.This,Roger suddenly said as we lay looking down into it, is a wild place. It is as beautiful and complex, perhaps more so, than any glen or bay or peak. Miniature, yes, but fabulously wild .
Uit: The wild places Robert Macfarlane 2007 blz 168 hoofdstuk 9