I was not going to waste an afternoon of sunshine, so I juggled my to-do list and took myself for a walk. I am so lucky and grateful to have this walk on my doorstep; it is a real walk through ancestral land with its very ancient trees and old charms and etchings.
The woodland suddenly sounded alive with hope and birdsong. Drumming woodpeckers and calling great tits. Blue tits flirted among the branches and wrens chased and hopped around the buttresses. The volume and panic went up as a goshawk flew across the treetops, but it wasn't long before the chattering and whisperings of love songs returned.
Donkeys basked in the sunshine while ponies dozed on the heath. From this elevated vantage point across the forest, I watched a red deer grazing on the hillside and a red kite gliding overhead. The landscape was dotted with bursts of yellow from the gorse as I descended the hill to visit an old friend.
Despite her immense size, the Knowles beech isn't easily spotted unless you know where to look, and then, WOW, there she is! Guarded by a bog in the winter and high bracken in the summer, she is only accessible at certain times of the year, which adds to the enchantment of her ancient and wise presence. I sat with her in the sun for a while, both of us leant in to it, as I pondered who else might have sat with her over the years. With tree carvings nearby, I am certain this woodland has held great significance for many.
As I continued my walk past the Portuguese fireplace, I brushed my hand through the bog myrtle. It may appear dormant and unremarkable, but the buds are already releasing traces of that delightful aroma.
In the woodland, the pond was bubbling with frogspawn, and sunlight filtered through the conifer trees. It was disappointing to see no effort to revive the reptile centre this half term, but the pony grazing there didn't seem to mind!
Lastly, back into the wild and ancient woodland near home, where I know every tree and every pony. I Walked amongst the gnarly birch, the upright oaks, and the wise women of the woodland, the ancient, etched, and scarred beech trees.
There she was, as she is every time I walk this woodland, the leucistic (white) fallow deer. She stops to watch me pass like a ghost amongst the trees. She never flees; she just watches, and I always blow her a kiss through the wild and ancient, enchanted woodland.
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