There has been no new snowfall and so what remains is the frozen leftovers from yesterday. I’m in the Glen by half past three and wondering what I’ll find today, I am happy to see the Glen little egret, Glenda, Glenn or Greta… the names are hovering, I see her as she swipes left on my approach, dragging her yellow boots behind her. I don’t even reach for my phone anymore, beginning to respect her desire not to be captured by me. One of the walkers recently took a photo showing off her lovely lacy plumage, just missing her fancy boots.
I head towards the Fleischmann place as I have a tub of leftovers to offer the robins there. Instead there are a couple of men deep in conversation by the fallen tree, not wanting to linger too close I spread my offerings and move on. I notice that the tree that leans in is an ash tree – I can’t be sure it’s the tree from the old photograph and I’m drawn by other things, there are a pair of curious ivy clad stumps by the river, surely too alike to be natural under their coats, and as I’m drawn in I notice a shadowy silhouette on the other side of the river.. this place is full of ghostly presences
I take the path out of the grove and head towards the high ridge. Up here in the cool air I find a crackling presence, I’m caught between the tangle of the bracken and the static energy coming off the prick-sparky gorse, each alight in the setting sun. The contrast between South and North facing slopes casts a strong diagonal across my path, already a giddy mix of steep falling away at one ear and rising incline at the other, I steady myself to keep balance.
On the way home there is a lurking ball, it too made glamorous in the low slanting light. The blackbirds are kept busy tossing around the leaf litter while the light fades.