see all the pix here

I did eventually manage to find some woodland to wonder through. Pleasing both in that I’d correctly remembered that there was such a place just around the corner from Syresham, and in being so delightfully named. It’s true, and here’s the photograph I took to prove it.

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Un-typically, I resolve to stick to path for once – last time I was here a year or so ago we got a bit lost and ended up walking a very long way. Partly due to a state of mild rapture brought on by thick, almost hallucinatory carpets of Bluebells. Partly, also I suspect, to being in the company of my friend Fi. Not in any deliberate way, you understand, just that it’s the sort of thing that happens when you’re with Fi. The only person I’ve ever met truly deserving of the description ‘fey’, in the proper, old meaning of the word; otherworldy, beautiful, strange and sometimes a little dangerous. Currently to be encountered delighting and perplexing the inhabitants of the Isle of Harris, at times like this I miss her a great deal.

Wrenching my attention back to the present moment, I can’t help noticing what seems like a lot of bent and curved boughs, particularly on trees near the path. Don’t remember that from the last visit.

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I’m quite prepared to accept that this is just my pattern-seeking thing working overtime. Equally, on on the evidence of the afternoon so far, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that there’s a traditional tree-weaving festival.

Either that or I’ve stumbled on the handiwork of the Whistley Wood Tree Bending Society.

I hope so, I do really hope so.

It’s the sort of thing that seems likely on one of those days in England.