In England in East Sussex, along a winding country road, a homemade sign caught my eye. It bore a simple message: 'Toads at Night'.
Reading those words, something within me stirred, as if I had stumbled upon a hidden enchantment. For a moment, I held my breath, transported from the expansive vistas of the chalky Downland to this narrow thoroughfare flanked by flood plains. The sign, a mere declaration of nocturnal toads, marked the entrance to a wooded area.
Here. Amidst an ancient landscape of white cliffs, beaches and mysterious formations of black flint, the atmosphere was palpably different. The Downlands felt intimately connected to the heavens above, while the open floodplains and wooded areas whispered secrets. Even the names on the map hinted at intrigue Cuckmere and Ouse River, High and Low Wealds and the peculiar term ‘Twitten’ for pathways and alleyways in the town.
This was a realm pulsating with magical energies, where the very essence of colour seemed to resonate audibly. ‘Toads at night’ encapsulated the essence of this place - a statement both grounding and unsettling, echoing the enigmatic allure of the landscape.
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