I circled the border where Tom has planted his trees, they are very well camouflages against the hedgreow where Gorse steps out and has begun marching across the field. Last year’s oak leaves are still keeping form in the masting and mulching.
The park is quiet, subdued even, his evening and I cross the bridges wondering how the daffodil bulbs got to the centre of the lower pond, an enclave of narcissi. There are now shining spots of yellow throughout the Glen as new growth shoots up. I catch sight of Greta, so close to the edge, before she got spooked, and slipped away while I gazed after her trailing yellow feet.
I pass the oil slicks in the bayou and head up to the grassy knoll and the new path through the bracken that M the pathkeeper has beaten out, I came prepared to get a sprig of pussy willow from here and collected some burrrs in passing. Gorse prickles out vigorously evereywhere. On my way down I skirt the ‘military’ tree with its lovely bend and the Spanish runner slides past.
the wild garlic is coming up by fallen willow and I go towards island. Paul the Wall has been here and left an installation by the sluice gate. I look back across the pond at the piece of equilateral triangular debris that has been there all winter, Paul’s wall slides into view around the bend marking this territory with its serpentine line. The laurels are sending up their candlesticks.
there is evidence everywhere that the council have a new larger vehicle, from the widened tyre tracks straddling the pathways to the brutalised trees and shrubs that they have broken and mashed, there are inexplicable piles of debris hither and thither irrelevant heapings and leavings of mechanised goings on, hurtful only to those on foot.
There are people filling bottles of water at the well as i pass on up through the gothic orchard and on to the burnt patch taking the path along the high ridge and looking down at the old familiar forms of the twinned river and path ways, water now back to its sinuous form.
There are new offerings at the fairy’s door and a large gathering of magpies clustered in the central paddy of the lower pond. The ivy bush is still flung out on the grass, its been a few months now and remains an inexplicable sight to me… a powerful presence, lively still in form, untouchable since wrenched from its roots.
A toy vehicle with another on its back passes the hand made scenes and vitrines on the snake.