The stands are bare, the forest is opening up again, with the canopy gone and the bracken dying back, views not seen since springs burgeoning are being revealed. With each season the forest becomes a different place, the same spots take on strikingly different aspects. I've regularly sat here on the bank of Black Water as it passes along the edge of Vinney Ridge Enclosure for more years than I can remember. I've watched this particular gravel bar expand and shrink, almost disappear only to reappear bigger, sometimes bare others capped with grass, yearly being remodelled by the flow. Although perpetually in flux it remains strangely consistent. Over the years I've had little fires on it, cooked on it, brewed up on it, and dozed in the shade of the young trunks to the side of it. I know this place. It's strange how favoured spots develop, something must draw us to them in the first place, then we just keep coming back, each time imbuing them further.
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