Pinnick again

Linford Brook is teaming with fry of various sizes, darting through the shallow waters and disappearing into the deeper pools if anything approaches; it's good to see the brook looking so healthy and full of life. Pinnick is an old wood, a wild wood, a jumble of self seeded trees and shrubs vying for the dappled sun which floods through the open canopy. Several of the older trees are losing their bark as they slowly return to the earth; the missing bark reveals intricate patterns and strange shapes. Sitting under one of the mature Oaks I drifted in the woods, lost in the sounds and smells. Unlike many of the enclosures, old or new, where the tightly packed trees create an impenetrable shield to the sun, leaving the floor bare but for last seasons leaves, other than where a leviathan has fallen; Pinnicks floor is covered with plant life. Amongst the trees, Bluebells, Wood Sorrel, Wood Spurge, Wood Anemones and others carpet the ground with lush green punctuated with spots of colour; Pinnick is a wood at peace with itself, mature and well seasoned, a special and a magical place.