Moss def

The woods are wet, the air is damp, the sky grey, the light poor and amongst the trees substantial mist hung; all but a few small patches of off white slush now remain of the thick alabaster blanket that cocooned the land.  The day has a heavy feel, nothing hastens in the forest; I walk through the woodland as if gravity has increased or the air has thickened slowing and hindering my progress.  Walking through Holidays Hill enclosure, planted 1681 making it one of the oldest enclosures, although now in part replanted with mature coniferous stands, I marvel at the lush green carpet of moss which blankets the plantation floor, verdant and intense.  Above, out of sight beyond the dense tree tops, you can hear the distinct piercing cries of a bird of prey.  In one area  the evergreens are densely planted and flourish, with clusters of eager saplings still sheltering in their mothers towering shade, but ready to sprint towards the light when the opportunity presents itself.  I like this place, more so bathed in dappled sunlight when the deep soft beds of moss call you to lay a minuet in their cushioned embrace and spy the sky through voids in the canopy; but even in the dank I feel drawn to its nature.  There are other comparable stands within stands of this nature about the forest, and all feel alike, all have an intensity like something distilled.