Hi everyone, George has been having a lovely time running around this wonderful wild wood on the edge of Beverley. I meander around, stepping over sad, fallen, moss covered ancient giants, now resting and providing homes for insects and a variety of fungi. The ground is covered with fallen leaves, hiding the embryonic growth of this seasons wild flowers. The damp, leaf litter smell of the rotting leaves augers the oncoming spring hope of new life. Wandering around, pushing through whips of sharp holly one often finds a clearing, of sorts, where light penetrates. Here is such a scene. The sun lit up the edges of the trees and created shadows on the ground. In the distance a giant is resting, asleep, never to wake up. It is covered with moss, suggesting it has lain there for some time. Time, of course, here in the wood works on another scale, another dimension, another .... time. A slow time, measured in multiples of human lives. It is a mysterious, magical place and, I wander it alone except for the rare occasional walker, a glimpse through the wood of a bright red coat?
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