It's a damp grey day, light rain blow through the forest. Smoke drifts silently off amongst the remaining trees of Hawkhill Enclosure (1870) a substantial pyre of woodland detritus crackles and pops as the flames take hold; flames lick out driven by swirling gusts. The dense woodland now reduced to neatly piled trunks lining the nearby gravel track. This section of Hawkhill is being stripped bare, returned to a semblance of its past self, open heathland; there are several massive heaps waiting to be ignited and in two or three years, if undertaken well, no sign of plantation will remain.Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Hawkhill
It's a damp grey day, light rain blow through the forest. Smoke drifts silently off amongst the remaining trees of Hawkhill Enclosure (1870) a substantial pyre of woodland detritus crackles and pops as the flames take hold; flames lick out driven by swirling gusts. The dense woodland now reduced to neatly piled trunks lining the nearby gravel track. This section of Hawkhill is being stripped bare, returned to a semblance of its past self, open heathland; there are several massive heaps waiting to be ignited and in two or three years, if undertaken well, no sign of plantation will remain.
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