Yesterday evening heading West I found the gards at the Blackpool gate, sitting in their car pointing into the Glen, there’s been trouble I guessed or a call, the car pulled away as I got close and I doubled back through Scotland. There was activity by the oak, some young teens at work, there was a stone circle carefully built for a hearth and some logs brought up for benches. One of the lads asked me for a light, I sensed a way of making contact, brazening out the situation, rhetorical. They get my answer anyway. I am impressed by the makings of their fire, not the usual slash and burn but something quaintly boy scoutish and careful about it, I pass by and give them my uninvited blessing for what it’s worth.
I go back the next day to see how they did and I am impressed again, fair play. This makes me happy and I move on west, coming down by the tussocks so kindly laid out as stepping stones to stay my fall and past the cage to the willow dome I cannot resist its crowning halo of new buds , I turn around from taking the shot and I am surprised by the line of dead elms lined up and facing me shoulder to shoulder a conjoined effort. Moving along to Cypress Alley and I get the whiff just as I see the odd circle on my right. Here is the now dried palm strewn and the curly silver leafed garden tree another ingredient to the pot, there are still new buds on one of the fallen and felled.
I admire the lichen on the hatch a moon rise and then as I move back a constellation or a meteor shower. I keep going and find my old friend the fallen willow, creature like with her round flat face with fungal growth, and spindly waving arms I think of one of those miniscule beings that can only seen through a deep lens. On to the Fleischman gates, little did I know this would be my last time seeing them like this. I have to admire the rich yellow of the dandelion and after the more acid brassica keeping the light as dusk falls on my way home up along the zigzag.