We sat under a giant chestnut tree at the top of a steep field that plunged down to the River Dart, like a stream of quicksilver winding north to Totnes and on to Dartmoor, its curved granite torsos like approving thumbs. Greenfinches chirped and a song thrush went through its dial-up repertoire. A lone seal sauntered on the mud of the estuary, waiting lazily for the tidal river to reclaim it.
" I come in the peace of wild creatures / who do not burden their lives with foresight / of sorrow ... whispered Frank, who led our group's nature ...
