The forest is bright, the mild winter sun still radiates a noticeable warmth and the recent snow and ice, now melted by said warmth, flush the gutters that drain the land and fill the streams to their brink. I enter Pignal enclosure, created in 1751, yet as with other enclosures of early date little remains of the trees planted then. Now Conifers cast darkness over the land, or tightly packed Silver Birch or young Oak and Beech jostle for space and light; I find it hard to feel the woods and wonder why. Then it occurs to me that the land is in transition, the past glories felled and future glories yet to flourish and find their place. The woodland is waiting to be. Not until I emerge from this void, into the remaining old sections of Parkhill enclosure, it too created in 1751, and the unenclosed ancient woodland of King's Hat do I start to feel the forest again. Now the trees are old and gnarled having witnessed many seasons and all that accompanies them, the woods, the individual trees, exist, exude and come to life.
I cross a gutter and notice strange, what appear to be, tooth or claw marks on a fallen tree and then out of the dappled woodland and onto the open land of Balmer Lawn. Long straight gutters cut swathes across the lawn, draining the waters off the land and from nearby springs. The grasses here are lush, the ground sodden and the nature of the land surface akin to green orange peel; the land covered in regular mounds, the dried out bases of purple moor grass tussocks. Creating a beautiful, almost alien landscape.
The forest is bright, the mild winter sun still radiates a noticeable warmth and the recent snow and ice, now melted by said warmth, flush the gutters that drain the land and fill the streams to their brink. I enter Pignal enclosure, created in 1751, yet as with other enclosures of early date little remains of the trees planted then. Now Conifers cast darkness over the land, or tightly packed Silver Birch or young Oak and Beech jostle for space and light; I find it hard to feel the woods and wonder why. Then it occurs to me that the land is in transition, the past glories felled and future glories yet to flourish and find their place. The woodland is waiting to be. Not until I emerge from this void, into the remaining old sections of Parkhill enclosure, it too created in 1751, and the unenclosed ancient woodland of King's Hat do I start to feel the forest again. Now the trees are old and gnarled having witnessed many seasons and all that accompanies them, the woods, the individual trees, exist, exude and come to life. 
I cross a gutter and notice strange, what appear to be, tooth or claw marks on a fallen tree and then out of the dappled woodland and onto the open land of Balmer Lawn. Long straight gutters cut swathes across the lawn, draining the waters off the land and from nearby springs. The grasses here are lush, the ground sodden and the nature of the land surface akin to green orange peel; the land covered in regular mounds, the dried out bases of purple moor grass tussocks. Creating a beautiful, almost alien landscape.
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