Golden brown

The forest is all browns and oranges now, few vestiges of last years cycle remain, last seasons ferns, bowed by the winds and rain, duled heathers and languid grasses furnish the heaths with a drab hue; the trees,all damp, lichen covered, strangely waxy looking, greasy to touch and mottled where the water has soaked the bark to the point of discolouring it, completes this melancholy view. The landscape is drained of nearly all bright vivid colour, punctuated only seldomly by the vibrant green of a grassy tree covered knoll. The dank under foot and with a dark, grey and water laden sky over head, only led to accentuate the point. Not much may appear to happen out here in the winter, although appearances can be deceiving and I'm sure, unseen and probably done with less intensity, activity continues. Look and listen hard enough and you'll see it or hear it, life's merely moving very slowly; making it harder to perceive, saving energy. The ponies persist, mainly now amongst the shelter of the woods, even though small groups of ponies do still inhabit the isolated open heath, despite experiencing the full force of the elements, they endure. Deer too, hurry through the landscape, between clumps of trees and shrubs, skirting the woodland and brooks; several groups today, one substantial. Unseen birds pass the occasional haunting call amidst the mist filled woods, today appearing deeply shrouded in mystery. Red rise shade brook, running along the border of these mysterious woods, flows high, not breaching its banks, yet running near capacity; seasonal creeklets and gullies feed it, swell it, on its passage to the sea. Broad in places, now that all its gravel beds and banks are submerged; compared to its usual meekness, it cuts quite a swathe through the woodland fringe. As it passed the mature oak trees who silently flank its banks, they cast their eerie portrait into the peat stained waters passing by, waters which reflected those mirrored images up into the sky.