More Woodland Scenes

A few more shots from when I was "lost in the woods".

“Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.” 

George Eliot

"Travel and society polish one, but a rolling stone gathers no moss,

 and a little moss is a good thing on a man."

John Burroughs

"All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act

 without benefit of experience."

Henry Miller

“To dwellers in a wood, almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its features.” 

Thomas Hardy

"Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence."

Yoko Ono

"If only one could tell true love from false love

as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools"

Katherine Mansfield

"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower"

Albert Camus

"Not for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman,

have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies"

Federico Garcia Lorca

"Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are."

Bertold Brecht 

“I could dance with you till the cows come home. 

Better still, I'll dance with the cows till you come home."

Groucho Marx.

Take care.

Lost In The Woods

You can't really get lost in Broxbourne Wood or Wormley Wood; the paths are clear on the ground, the popular routes are generously waymarked and, anyway, it's quite a compact area so if you walk in a straight line you're bound to encounter a road or fence which you can follow. So if you're careless enough to get lost then it's "lost" as in "lost in thought" and "careless" as in "without a worldly care".

Autumn is creeping in strangely this year; some trees have embraced the new season with enthusiasm while others choose to ignore the shortening days and are still rampant in their greenery. Grasses and bracken are filled with the same indecision.

Jays and Magpie swear at each other in the treetops while flocks of tits and finches call slyly in the underbrush. And just through here is a small pond where birds sometimes come to drink. As I push open the gate a Woodcock, that enigmatic shadow-speckled bird and master of camouflage, springs up and makes its urgent but off-kilter flight between the trees.

Sun lances in through the branches and momentarily lights a particular tree, leaving others loitering in the gloom. But the low sun will move on, hurrying across the sky, and the woodland floor will be cast in deep shade long before the sun dips slowly beneath some far horizon 

Footsteps fall softly on the damp leaf-litter, pushing through bowing, dew-laden grasses, then descending carefully down a steep slippery slope between mossy banks.

Here in the valley bottom a tiny stream waltzes over the sparkling gravel to join hands with other waters to journey on towards the sea.

Oak, Hornbeam and Silver Birch are falling under autumn's spell. Yellow leaves drift down like butterflies to settle where they may.

A scattering of yellow jewels settle on a forest pool, denting the fragile, reflecting surface with their tiny weight. 

Up above other leaves look down in all their golden glory, one last hurrah before they take their final bow.

Fallen branches support tiny fungi that will, given time, break down the timber to nutrients for new growth. Another turn of the wheel of life.

Just how many fungi can a child kick over before being struck by their architectural elegance - a fan-vaulted ceiling for ground-dwelling insects.

Meanwhile teenagers are trying the same trick with an old tractor; to break it down and return it to the earth! Coming on it through the wood I almost mistook it for some kind of sculpture.

And now the Hornbeams are twisting and writhing to produce their own kind of sculpture. Is it the agony of slow death or a dance of ecstasy?

Now where the devil has that path gone??!!! 

Take care.

England The Green

People keep commenting on how green everything is in my photos. Regular doses of rain is how it's done. But when the rain ceased for a while this afternoon I took up my camera and went for a stroll in a little wood, by a little stream, for a little while. Then it started raining again!

Take care.

(and take an umbrella!)

Signs And Sidetracks

What the.........???

It's the middle of January and even though I'm not sure what kind of tree it is I am quite certain that blossom should not be appearing in mid-winter. I knew the weather was rather confused this year but I didn't realise that Mother Nature been fooled completely.

OK, so I'll go out and see what else is on flower. So I walked down to Byron's Pool -
(visited before on this post)  - but as usual I got sidetracked, I digressed, I wandered....




sunlight on leaves



a promise

of things to come.

water of life,

go with the current

or follow

the grain?

life regenerates

life clings on.

Take care.

Wimpole Ruins

On the hill behind Wimpole Hall stand the imposing remains of a castle. At least, that's what you're supposed to think. It was very much to romantic taste to have a ruined castle overlooking ones estate and if there wasn't a convenient ruin then you had one built. If you wanted a true top-notch ruin then you commissioned Sanderson Miller, the best architect of romantic ruins to design it. And that is exactly what the 1st Earl of Hardwicke did in 1759. It was built in 1770 when Capability Brown, the greatest landscape gardener of the time, landscaped the park.

I began my walk at the Hall itself in blustery, drizzly weather, crossing the wide pastures and descending to the lake.

Every garden had to have a lake too and, you've guessed it, there wasn't one handy so the Earl had one made by having a small stream dammed. In fact they dammed it twice to create two lakes; they didn't do things by halves. Mandarin Ducks appear on the lake from time to time but today there were only Moorhens, Canada Geese, Tufted Ducks. a single Pochard and a couple of young Swans.

The wind began to break up the cloud layer as I neared the ruin, or more correctly, the folly since that's the correct name for such artificial structures.

The National Trust, who own the estate, won't let you get too near to the folly as it is in real danger of becoming a proper ruin and falling down on unsuspecting visitors.

The observant will realise that you were never intended to get close; for, although the front of the building is of fine stone, its backside is shamefully made from cheap bricks!

I continued on my way in the rain for the clouds had now rolled in again and reached an area of woodland known as The Belts. Woodland was another important element in the ideal Picturesque Landscape. Do I need to tell you that the wood was created to complete the illusion?

Flocks of small birds made their way through the trees and a Buzzard cried overhead. But when not gazing upwards through the binoculars I was kneeling in the damp leaves photographing little details like these fungi which resembled butterflies perching on the rotting wood...

...beautiful colours...

 ...or else examining the grasses and fallen trees at the edge of the wood.

Then I was out in the open country again watching flocks of Fieldfares. A Sparrowhawk hunted along the hedge and hares bounded away across the fields. Short-Eared Owls have been seen around here recently but not today.

Eventually I descended to Cobb's Wood Farm where my progress was observed by an inquisitive equine. A little further along I came upon a rapidly decaying house and outbuildings. There always seems to be some kind of renovation going on here but unless they hurry up they could well be defeated by the natural deterioration caused by time.

And from there it was but a short stroll back the Wimpole Hall where my faithful bicycle awaited me.

Take care.