Some distance from the track, with their feet planted amongst a green sea of wild garlic and amidst a plantation of conifers, I spied what I assume to be old Victorian posts for the washing lines, where the drying green for the big house must have been.
This is the bark of a beech tree. There must be something in the air here which affects the colouration of tree bark. I noticed the same red colouration on some sycamores the day before yesterday.
I stood here and listened to the cuckoo, not far away, and the grating call of the elusive corncrake, amongst the cacophony of early morning birdsong. Bliss.Some early bluebells. Spring is coming, but slowly. All good things come to those who wait though!!
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.