Traipsing to the top of a mini-mountain, it’s only natural that your eye would be drawn to the sweeping expanse of forest-covered slopes stretching out before you.
Among the ruins of a once-proud castle, though – perched precariously atop a ridge which gifts any resident a breathtaking panorama of every possible approach – there’s far more to focus on than the distant scenery.
Take the ribbon of asphalt which clings to the foot of the hills down below. Snaking through the valley, it’s a piercing bolt of humanity in an otherwise all-natural scene, frequently disappearing from view as the trees reclaim their canopy.
Or look to the river as it winds past a deserted quarry. From this height it could well be a jungle of Latin America, of India, of Asia, with the water working its way through dense woodland to paint an arterial picture for high-seated observers.
Then turn your eyes to the spaces left behind by what were once walls. Even in the face of a vista fit for a postcard, my mind seeks a frame – and here the blocks and rocks of this crumbling construction do everything. Bricks and peak in picture-perfect harmony.