in the bluebell woods

Last week on a very hot day, I went for a long and winding walk  .  .  .  .

into the coolth of treeshadows  .  .  .  .

threading my way around tree trunks  .  .  .  .

across a bluebell meadow  .  .  .  .

through ankle deep wild garlic  .  .  .  .

discovering  .  .  .  .

The time of tiny white feathers

We are still in ‘the time of tiny white feathers’.  It starts sometime in February and goes through late May.  I find them snagged on branches, lying on the pavement and curled up beneath hedgerows, sometimes floating on a breeze.

buddha

buddha

buddha

I have quite a collection of semiplume feathers at home, which I’ve gathered over the course of a couple years. I think they are strewn about when birds shed their extra winter layer and also use them to line their nests.  Semiplume feathers are half-way between a contour feather and a down feather.  They occur between contour feathers and help to supply insulation.

Warmth and home, insulation and protection . . .

Feathering the nest!

buddha

budd

buddha

I carry them between the leaves of my moleskine notebook or tucked into the change pocket of my wallet.   I found one batch in the side pocket of a handbag I hadn’t used for several months.

It’s curious that this year, I haven’t been noticing and collecting these semiplumes.  I’ve had the idea of a soul shelter coming into tangible form inside of me for about a year and I think that my collection of feathers will come in handy when I get down to making it.

Letting go

Riding to work on a breezy spring day, I pass through a sudden flurry of brown leaves. I have to laugh. November in April! The tree had held on to the wizened, dead leaves since the end of last year, until the new growth finally made it necessary and possible to let them go. Or perhaps it was the leaves that had held on, reluctant to fall away.

I think of my own life and patterns of growth. Sometimes I am very brave and certain and willingly strip away all that is superfluous, outmoded, no longer necessary. I stand naked in the void and give myself to whatever is next.

At other times though, I cling so tightly to an old pattern or habit, place or thing, mindset or relationship which no longer serves me and may even be harmful. Even when I know full well that I would be better off without it.

Why is this? On one level there is my desire for familiarity, comfort, habit, the security of the known. However, if I go a little bit deeper and probe beneath my longing for a comfortable existence, I find a sheer fear of not knowing, not having, not being. Where and who will I be without this? And what is next?

Then to make matters worse, I start to beat myself up, chide myself for being a ‘coward’, set impossible deadlines and generally add to my misery.  And in a funny way, maybe the dying, outmoded behaviour is reluctant to loosen its hold on me.

Once again though, in their gentle manner the trees and the seasons teach me a lesson. Sometimes, I need to have the old and the new at once. To give myself the time to stay with what I know, even as I cultivate and grow something new. Then when the time is right, last year’s leaf will gently fall away.

Wild delight

After work today,  I cycled home along the footpath that goes through Sowton Mill.  The setting sun cast its honeyed light on the bank of the river that I rode along.  I paused for a while, basking in the lazy golden sunshine and drinking in the beauty of the wild daffodils, primroses and celandines – the heralds of springtime.

buddha

buddha

In his book Divine Beauty, John O’Donohue writes about the delights of yellow:

“The colour holds such warmth, brightness and attraction for us because it is the colour of the sun, the source that sustains us.  In terms of its physics, yellow has absorbed red and green and then reflects yellow back.  Red is the colour of life, blood and fire; and green the colour of growth and hope.  Little wonder that yellow has such a life-giving brightness. . . .  Goethe says: ‘Yellow brings with her the nature of brightness and has a delightful, encouraging, exciting and soft quality.’  We see this in spring with the daffodils.”ddha

buddha

buddha

Wild daffodil and wood anenomes

Snowfall

Today we had the first snow of this winter, a rare and beautiful sight in Devon.  I took a walk to see how the snowfall had magicked the landscape.

At Bridford Wood, I found the first wild daffodil shoots.

Grandfather Tree

Last week was very blustery with 70 mph winds.  One of my favourite oak trees blew down and I went to say ‘Good-bye’ and pay my respects.  I used to pass this tree on my journey to and from the Cider Barn and often stopped and told him my latest news or just to have a quiet visit.  I’ll miss him.

Grandfather Tree

I’m not sure how old this tree was, maybe about 300 years.  He was almost certainly a veteran.   Veteran trees vary in age depending upon their species and location, but may be several hundred years old. Smaller and shorter-lived tree species (such as orchard trees) may begin to develop some veteran features when only a few decades old. Usually, veteran tree organisations use size as a measure, with a >3metre girth at 1.5m above ground being a usual test for a tree to be a veteran.

Veteran trees often have features of particularly high nature conservation value, such as dead limbs, hollows, rot-holes, seepages, woodpecker holes, splits, and epiphytic plants and lichens. Few of these features are found on younger trees, and they provide habitats for very many species of animals and fungi, some of which are rare.