Sometimes it is just the sheer beauty of the trees and the sky which make me stop on my walk up the lane. The blue sky and bright green of the tree canopy, leaves backlit by the sun’s rays in early morning light. There is something mystical and magic and I breathe deeply in contentment.
The old, gnarled apple tree in the derelict mill garden has wood worm. I noticed it for the first time today when I as looking for more apples – the wind had obviously dislodged some of the thick pelt of moss and lichen that had covered this particular branch and there they were – hundreds of holes caused by beetle larvae. I read somewhere that apple trees can compartmentalise and shut off injuries to damaged parts of their being and continue to live and fruit. That must be what this one is doing. At the same time small, green catkins are appearing on the hazels.
Autumn is making its presence known. The sycamore leaves are now falling, some floating to the ground to make a deep mulch, others holding on to the branches, curled inwards liked arthritic hands.
There is one bird call I have been trying to identify – it sings from the highest branches of the trees and when I turn to try to locate it the sound moves to another tree and another. I end up in a slow pirouette, my ears fascinated by this strange hypnotic call which echoes around and around. I now think I have identified it – or them – there are obviously more than one. I think it is a tree creeper with a strangely unearthly sound. All is magic.