Robins setting among the holly. Pigeons and crows take flight at my passing. Squirrels scamper among the tree roots, chasing each other in a wild game of tag, bounding along the floor. Kites soar over the treetops.
The solid crunch of wet leaves. Twigs snapping underfoot. Fungus quietly clinging to a fallen silver birch, old twisted limbs and exposed muddy roots. Windswept.
A sense of solitude but never alone. A part of this wild world and yet always separate. Lost but always here.
Planes and cars rudely intrude. Never too far away.
Bright morning sunshine slicing through the branches. Cool afternoon rain falling gently on the ground.
Two trees, an oak and an ash, intertwined in an eternal mossy embrace. A fallen branch, dead but regenerating. Stones trapped, growing within the wood. Pools of water caught in the hollows.
Tweets and twitters echoing around my head. The smell of spruce fills the air.