Hiking near home in the Scottish Borders, our writer discovers solace in familiar paths – as Dorothy Wordsworth did in the Lakes two centuries ago
• More walks: London at midnight | Joy in the rain
I stand at the top of a pass in the Scottish Borders. It’s early November, and showers move slowly across the sky. I watch a dark cloud as it drifts near but, for now, I stay dry.
The hillsides are covered in shades of brown and gold, the russet of decaying bracken contrasting beautifully with the yellow of birch leaves. Below me, flows the Caddon Water, a tributary of the Tweed in its middle course. Large on the horizon are the Cheviot Hills of Northumberland. Nearer are the summits of the Eildon Hills, above Melrose. To my right is the ridge of hills separating the Tweed valley from the Yarrow, while behind me looms the grassy dome of Windlestraw Law.
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Source: Gaurdian