Yorkshire inspiration - part one

My fears of rain had not been justified, for it had turned into one of those bright autumn afternoons that seem to pierce the soul with their particular beauty, a golden light on the land and the shadows sharp-edged, and the soft light was kind to the house. Nothing could soften those stark outlines, but on a distant green hill the sun shone, and suddenly it did not seem as isolated as it had been.
— The Vanishing

Photographs taken on the moors above Haworth, Autumn 2014

I pulled the collar of the greatcoat high, kept my head down as I ran. I could see the Shawsdrop road and anything on the Shawsdrop road could see me, but it was empty. I thanked God for old uncle Jack and the derelict farmland, uninhabited, without anyone to see or betray me. I kept alongside the high, roughly built stone walls. Followed the seam of ownership, built out of grey stone.
I heard hooves, or thought I did, on the wind. I dived low behind the wall; looked through its many holes, and the wind whistled through the jagged gaps. I looked at the road, and saw nothing. Waited there for many a minute.
— The Vanishing