A tree

When I lived in Berkshire, in those dim and distant working days, I hated trees. They enclosed us in, stopping us ever seeing the horizon. Pine trees all around, tall, uniform and depressing with a dead carpet underneath them.
The Western Isles has however cured me of my tree phobia and this one could be a Western Isles tree, although it lives on the Eastern reaches of Dartmoor. No prizes for guessing which direction is South-West.
This tree was on one great little hill about a mile west of Moretonhamstead with three burial cairns and a stone circle set amongst views in all directions. The sun was thinking about leaving the sky after its short sojourn but there was nothing blocking ones access to the horizon here!