Half a finger deep and easily stepped over, the little pool in the meadow offers a glass-clear, pebbly bowlful of water. It’s filled by a tiny rivulet that trickles through a runnel in the grass, the sides starred with blue flowers of forget-me-not and licked-yellow buttercups.
The Exmoor dialect name is a “splat”; a small spring forming persistent puddles. During the recent weeks of hot, dry weather this eye-shaped spill has been a lifesaver for hedgehogs and the other small mammals that come here at night to drink.
