Return to Wild Boar Wood

Beautiful imagery, beautiful place, just beautiful. I’ve never been there and I abhor the thought of winter but I would brave it to wake to this.

Making it write

IMG_1900-248x148_c                    NC-Bluebells_at_the_campsite_in_West_Sussex-2-248x148_c            

Wild Boar Wood retained its winter nakedness as it awaited our arrival.

The trees stood skinny and diminished beneath a steel-grey sky, as if sleeping to escape their grief at our late-summer retreat to towns and houses.

The plants under our feet had at least prepared for our return, pushing up green leaves as they waited for the right moment to burst into braggardly bloom.

We pitched a tent and lit a fire, chopped vegetables and cooked food, ate our evening meal in darkness, and after a while retreated to bed to ready ourselves for the next day’s toil.

When I stepped out of the tent and into daylight I knew that the wood had awoken. I felt it cautiously welcome me as each day it filled out a little more, giving me gifts of…

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