I am back in the Glen in the early morning, its a time of a coming new moon and transition… dead dry docs are stalking through the still lush grass …rowan fruiting vermillion, chestnuts spiking up and the Chicken of the Woods returns to the womb of the hollowed poplar stump making a basket of itself, a broken branch in one of the Swamp Cyprus augurs the fall while its sibling tree harbours in her skirts a world of ripenings and the Miller is at it again growing and clutching all that falls in into its fruiting body
and all the while the river flows on by…..
I find some strange feathered script messaging my path and I dance back with it …hatching
I am overjoyed to see the mugwort re-emerge, last year it was squashed and demolished by tractor activity, it seems the tractor not only failed to kill the plant but carried some seed heads in its tracks and redeposited them in its wake…way hay for the mugwort
As I pass the well there is a downy fall of small white feathers