I'm sitting on the veranda of the Cheat River Inn, overlooking a river valley which (if it were light enough) would still be misty from the evening's thunderstorm. As it is it's dark, but sleep is still not a realistic prospect because of the racket of the frogs, cicadas, crickets, katydids or whatever nocturnal fauna.
Quote of the day has to go to the guide on a tour of some local caves, hewn from the rock by millennia of dripping water:
"These are lahmstewn caves", he said, which took me a moment to transpose. "Evwer there there use to be an ancient Indian burial ground*, but out of respect for the Indians it was walled up in the 30s when the cave was commercialized".
The word "ground" had more syllables in it than I can sensibly transcribe. What struck me, though, was the ease with which most people from around here could blend seamlessly into life in the part of Wiltshire where I live. And I mean that as a compliment in both directions.
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