Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Essence of Pine

December, the mornings are cold and heavy with frost, gloved hands scrape ice from car windscreens and each breath turns to a cloud of fog in the still air. At midday yesterday the sun was low and golden, slanting through the woodland to sparkle off cobweb and light up the forest floor with colours like a faded photograph; a memory of autumn past. Lichens of grey and rust coat the bark of oak and birch, emerald mounds and tufts of shaggy moss snuggle in crevices at the foot of the trees and high, high above, the dusty worn green of the pine branches brush against a brilliant blue sky. In the smell in the air and the crunch beneath my feet, the shadows on the rough bark and light between the trunks, all around me is essence of pine.

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