Snowdrops dropping over the side of the bank. A moat from medieval times that runs with mud and sticks and fallen leaves. A cascading waterfall of white drops bringing life to a brown edge. Skiing through trees. Flowing, yet still.
Thick cold mist but my need for a walk is not going to be put off by an uninviting day.
As I enter the wood I spot on the severed tree trunks rings of peppermint lichen with frilly silver edges. One, in the photo, looks like they are the adornment around a portal, a dark door to another world. I imagine myself shrinking to fit through and think of white stags and unicorns standing amongst trees. Instead I carry on last into a woodland that has been severely thinned these past few months and remember what I read in The Hidden Life of Trees* last night. The effect of the loss of community members on trees. Has the Forestry Commission read this book?
*the book is by Peter Wohlleben
Sunshine, yay! But no frost, even better. Mild with a cold wind instead.
I can just see a robin amongst the closely woven branches of a shrub beneath Ash. Little flashes of red shine out. It would be so easy to miss if I wasn’t sat here inside looking at that exact spot from my chair by the French doors. He’s hopping on the fence now. I’m tempted to open the doors and say hello but I fear the noise would scare him off.
In the woods on my walk, in the clearing, I noticed for the first time what looks like a path, a tunnel through some trees. Has it always been there? Or is it a combination of season, light and focus that bring it to my attention? I imagine it being a portal to somewhere magical but am not brave enough to go and explore. There are signs all over this wood warning people to stick to the signed paths and though I do deviate often on to unsigned paths, I have yet to venture ‘off road’. Maybe I will feel adventurous another day.
A change of observation scene today. I sat in the woods on the laid down tree from which I would throw treats to Bobby. It’s in a clearing and I always think the space feels somehow natural and unreal at the same time. I tried some land art, what became a stag from fallen branches, but I was too tired to do much bending.
As I sat I could hear the gentle tap of a woodpecker far up high. Usually they are the green ones. The light of the sun was scattered through the branches providing waves of colour. The constant sound of aeroplanes, both big and small because beside the usual jumbos we are close to Shuttleworth aerodrome, made me long for the silence of Lockdown when the birds ruled the skies again. Still, I could hear lots of tweeting, a much more melodious sound than the engines.
I noticed how much the ground reminded me of the night after a party, bits strewn everywhere. In amongst the copper brown leaves and dark brown pine needles were red berries standing out like little Rudolph noses. The trees had had a good shake, let their hair down, and didn’t care because they knew that the party debris is good for the earth. Natural born recyclers showing us how its done.
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And Then There Were Stories 