Her skeleton lay unceremoniously on the beach.

The Vikings have invaded again.

I was ghost hunting.

A bunting of autumn leaves is still draped across the trees. 

Amongst the poppy fields there blows, the souls of those lost long ago.

The sun begins to slip beneath the clouds causing rays of light to undulate across the surface of the road.

The corrugated roof of the recently abandoned Winniaton Farm has become inhabited for the evening.

At 334 metres high, Kit Hill is the highest point in the Tamar Valley.

It started with an old box of books.