The sun beamed through the 200 year old maturing Oaks of Broomy enclosure (1809), the bright rays are warming on the the skin, more used recently to an icy scouring. One could be forgiven for thinking spring had sprung; an illusion, regularly the sun disappeared, obscured by clouds, and the season was brought back in to stark focus. Winter still has dominion, waning, yes, but still has it all locked down. Above the tall Oaks, twisting and spreading the mass of crowns was alive with the furtive sounding song of birds enjoys the joys of the day. There's a mist hanging over the forest, giving an ethereal feel to the landscape. Approaching 'the churchyard', site of a medieval hunting lodge, the piercing cry of a bird of prey fills the air as it circles the ancient tree covered ridge, adding to the air of mystery.
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
Broomy
The sun beamed through the 200 year old maturing Oaks of Broomy enclosure (1809), the bright rays are warming on the the skin, more used recently to an icy scouring. One could be forgiven for thinking spring had sprung; an illusion, regularly the sun disappeared, obscured by clouds, and the season was brought back in to stark focus. Winter still has dominion, waning, yes, but still has it all locked down. Above the tall Oaks, twisting and spreading the mass of crowns was alive with the furtive sounding song of birds enjoys the joys of the day. There's a mist hanging over the forest, giving an ethereal feel to the landscape. Approaching 'the churchyard', site of a medieval hunting lodge, the piercing cry of a bird of prey fills the air as it circles the ancient tree covered ridge, adding to the air of mystery.
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