There’s a wood on this land. Not a fancy oak wood with towering trunks and epic spreading canopies just a willow wood with birch a few rowans, hawthorn and elder. Trunks are moss covered and in places ivy hangs like curtains. I come here most days and walk the paths, usually at the point of leaving I think I should come more often. It’s like I have two worlds, when I’m in one the other is a memory and the small bridge over the stream is the connecting  point between the two, no wonder bridges are surrounded in myth.                                                                                                                                    Today I came and walked a second time, I needed a bit of a think and although I have resting points in the garden I can always see a job to be done and I didn’t want any distractions. The dogs don’t always come and they were busy barking at the post man so I went alone. Yesterday low sun sent bars of golden light through the branches, not so today, low cloud had settled and everything was silent. I walked a while, stood and walked again, it’s not a very large wood but the paths are winding and you can cover a fair bit of ground while not going very far from where you started. In the soft light the greens, browns and bronzes of the ferns and bracken brought me to a halt, it’s an easy place to spend time in, and time just drifts away if you let it. A thought of time to move, and the question why? and another thought, I should have brought a seat. I drift on another stop to see where the light is coming from on a young rowan and a slow turn taking in the full circle of what’s around me, every thing is still very green, above the branches let go their small leaves now yellow and gold like yesterdays sunbeams and then I breath, a small movement over to the right and an autumnal dog bounds along the path, I get the doggie smile as he goes past and then he’s lost in the bracken, now I have an excuse to stay longer, he’s having such a good time, as am I,  it’s a shame to leave.

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