Another cold March day that warms only as dusk falls. I have company on my walk today as we take the chance to visit the park on the way to the shops. It’s late afternoon as we cross the bridges and I see the little white cloud on the other side and so we stop and chat with M the dancer before moving on with our mission. The daffodils are really coming into their own, supported by the firey gorse that has maintained its colour throughout the winter.
We see the park from the other side, the part that is not public, the skinny rivulet of the Glen river as it journeys south west and we pass the culvert where it is joined by another stream from the North. This wooded area is not entered much by humans and blackbirds flit between branches, vocalising noisily, it’s mating season after all. There must be an abundance of undisturbed wildlife in this patch where foxes have been seen nearby, and fly tipping also occurs on a grand scale, unchecked by the authorities as the land is privately owned.
The Glen is a different place when we are cutting through and so on the way home I head back in alone via the zigzag for a meander as dusk falls. I see the beech leaves heaped at the bases of their mother trees and crevices filled with jelly ears gently caged by the upward movements of the ivy, holding itself in all lushness in its ruffled folding form, the downy surface shows zigzagging tracks of smaller creatures all so nestled in the crevice of this strong mama beech. This is one of an avenue that leads to the city Council depot, they are grand old dames, each with markings particular to themselves, marking them out as distinguished rather than deformed by their time spent growing up in this environment. New sprouts are pushing up everywhere from the leaf mast and the three sister silver birch spreads its trunks like wings from the ground.
I head on west and pass the grazed roots of the grove by the bridges, machinery too careless to notice has passed this way and does so each day. The fence posts of the demolished O’Brien residence have been embraced by the tree still growing on the footprint. Here I see a cheery wave and T the tree is there with his bagful of saplings here to check up on and tend to the trees he has planted in the undergrowth all over the park. He tells me there are hollies and rowans, birches and oaks all gone in, even a crab apple, he wants to make a map so friends can know where to find them, we check up on some and wonder if they will be safe from the council strimmers by the footpaths, and from the young people in the undergrowth and from the undergrowth which will help and also hinder their survival. He cuts me a sprig of spindle for setting in willow water when I get home. The evening has warmed as we head out along Sunview East.