A Walk Through Winter Trees

At the end of the storms, everywhere was wet. Just days before, we had been told that those with health vulnerabilities and those of a certain age should prepare to self isolate. We needed to get out, to think and find some peace. 

There were signs of spring. Patches of celandines grew in wild corners of the garden. 

We walked for an hour or so in the woods on the Beacon Hill. 

Felled by the winter wet and rotted through, this old 'woodpecker tree ' had been a landmark in the lane. 

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Its bark, studded with woodpecker holes, and its crumbling interior, waited now for insects and birds to feed. 

A wet lane and leafless trees, but still the bright moss shone on beech bark.

                   
                         
        In the valley, soaked bracken, gorse and distant trees stretched towards the coast.

                                   

        Holly, the understory of tall beech and oak, had been eaten to the browsing line by Forest ponies and deer. 

A "tunnel of green gloom" from the lane to the bright edge of the hill. 

From the hill fort`s flat topped grass, miles of heath  crossed into the misty distance. 

Time to turn round, past pools and down the wooded slopes. A winter wood on the edge of spring.