Walking through Verditch Chase, a mosaic forestry commission wood with plantations of young Beech all under 100 years, I was reminded that much of the mature Beech woodland I walk in the New Forest once started like this; easy to forget when marveling at the leviathans we see today. The stands are close, the trunks uniformly straight, with most side branches cropped; the woodland floor is spartan, deep in years of leaf litter and as I walk, a new layer is forming all about as the brisk winds rustle and loosen the remaining leafs. The leafs which remain form a golden hued canopy, which even on a drab day lighten the woods and lift the spirit. The place is almost silent, almost, but for the mournful cry of a bird of prey circling up above out of sight, beyond the canopy. Tranquility. Winter is almost upon us and even though the wheel still turns it will appear to stop; for a while at least.
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