I have seen huge processed logs in the back of lorries. The cracked remains of a rotting oak from a lightning strike two weeks before. But this tree lies fresh on the ground, a jellyfish of roots at the bottom, green leaves still on the branches at the top.
The winter has been a meteorological millpond for the last few weeks. Brothers of this victim stand proud without a single dropped twig. Maybe a disease knocked out some inner strength? But then why did the foliage look so healthy?
I winced at how far away the nearest hospital was. Hopefully this was the single fall today.
Regardless of the origin of this fall, the tree formed a barrier across the route ahead. Nettles and hog grass refused a clear walk around.
Trust me. Without endless perseverance The Butter Mouse would have stayed forever as notes in a drawer. One fallen tree is not enough to stop a writing project. This was no more than a physical manifestation of writer's block, and with enough scrambling I would soon be across.
I was in the process of launching myself over, when my palms sunk into long ragged marks running through the bark. Each revealed a caramel shade of beige in the wood underneath. I ran my finger along one. The mark was both precise and chaotic. A scalpel mark with torn edge.
The air was too crisp to spend too much time fretting. My undignified ascent began, Sharp nobbles threatened to rip my waterproof jacket. At the halfway paint my arms and legs hung across either side, and my chin grazed a splodge of lichen. Leaves tickled my nose. But with a roll my walking boots hit the ground with a slap of mud. Glad my neck was not involved in the landing.
The latter half of Fyxen Dun is a calm stroll through a woods that that twist and turn. A few birds called out, and something unknown rustled in the long grass, but the path blocked out the world on all sides. If you are looking for a place to think this is the place for you.
I emerged onto farmer’s field, barren and brown at this time of year. Another piece of woodland called Wulfhil joins Fyxen Dun in a thin strip of trees at the top of the land. One for later in the year.
This land connects in some way that is forgotten. I hope we can discover more. Those tree marks were bizarre though. Will do some digging on disease and wood..
For now I write by the moon, and look forward to my next walk.
::Don’t worry Barbara, I didn’t hurt myself. And really, I did think what’s a good anecdote for the book! I know, I need to learn to relax.
Do you think it is too diary like at this stage? Should I include more anecdotes? I am aiming to include more biography/anecdotes net time, so hopefully this will help!::
