Woken to a damp breeze, underneath low grey overcast sky; early morning upon this visually prominent hill. Along the steep winding chalk footpath I came across beautiful butterflies, wild flowers and when ascended stalk views of Salisbury plains became apparent.
Near a small village of Eskdalemuir there is a Tibetan Buddhist Monastery located on the verdant banks of the beautiful river Esk. We visited in the midst of freezing winter but sharp air was delightfully fresh and crisp as the crunching snow resting blind upon the ground.
I was surprised to find few people bothered with 'Merlin's cave'; surmising that they probably did not discover where the cave actually is. Tintagel coastline was mystic, contrast heavy in depth among shades of rugged contour. Truly an anchor in preservation of ancient legend.
My home wherever I roam, on the ridge of dragon track I wind then unleash linking age to age beyond all hour; unsung and yet still assured to be heard as wind force blink of sight to stroke across ear. Cup tea anybody? Rosie wrapped up warm... All that walking made me so tired!
My photographs of Becharaji taken from my then Nokia 5300 mobile phone. These pictures invoke such fond memories for me; I used to go through them to remind me that people are human when I went through so much miserable suffering on the streets of London. Blessed are the devotees of Bahucjaraji.