2nd October
I reluctantly take my body outside, walking fast, heart thumping. It is warm and the sun glows down strongly. To the river today, it’s been a while.
The light shining through the ash brings a yellow hue to the canopy. And paired with the blue sky reflected in the river, it is a pleasant balance for my eyes. The light sparkles on the water and bounces around on the tree bark, like mischievous faeries.
There is relentless bird song and the rumble of moving water, and the sun now feels brighter, somehow. Framed blue swell between shadowed trunks, and softly moving leaves in the breeze. These moments feel precious to notice, though not rare. A human mind does well to look for them more. I am lucky, and the splash of salmon interrupts my thought-flow.
The water shines like metal, full of everything, full of all that has fallen. Cleansing its way across the landscape, or maybe just sharing all it contains, telling stories as it goes. There is mountain grit here, down in the strath and soon out to the ocean.
3rd October
It is a lone and calm morning for me. I feel like my heart is beating towards the river again. Does that make sense? The inner force within my chest seeking water and light. Maybe I am a tree after all…
The woodlands that shelter this part of the river are dropping leaves, pattering around me. A leaf making contact with the earth makes a distinct sound, I can hear it clearly. I know I am tuned in now. I get closer to the water and see the mist hovering above, the last to lift.
I think my body knows there is a shift happening, drawn out to the sun. Like an adder seeking the warm and smooth stone. I bask with the glowing warmth on my cheeks, but my toes give it away with their chill. If I sit long enough I will see the frozen fern, weighted with ice, gradually soften, released from its bent over and curled state to dry gloriously in the sun.
I think sometimes I see things I’m not meant to see.
I decide my mind doesn’t need to be busy today, beyond these thoughts. I can sit here by the river and I don’t need to take photos (I do take some), or read (my book is tantalisingly close, warm pages in my backpack), but maybe if I let my mind have the space to play, it’s when the Secret Worlds open up to me.
The sound of the river is layered, I notice. The rush below, a torrent or an undertow, dark and strong. And the babbles and bubbles above like a playful infant. I hear a robin and think how powerful its tiny lungs must be to be heard above the thunderous water flow. It is then that I hear and see the accompanying grey heron’s wings, whooshing up river as the air flows beneath it pulling the water back towards the sea. It is all connected, the air and the rock and the soil and the water.
A reluctant return inwards and back to life, but first, the forest. There is dark and light in equal measure here, and a feeling of decay is growing stronger. A sense of final moments and gentle calm in what many would equate to self-destruction. A pine needle having a final dance on spider silk, and leaves saying their farewells. It would feel so sad if it wasn’t so beautiful.
The morning glow is still glinting and fiery through the leaves, and small branches otherwise unnoticed, hidden by the tangle, are having their moment. I’m reminded of a poem I read maybe a year or two ago, the first line of which I think of often; “I like my body when I’m in the woods…”, and I do.
“I like my body when I’m in the woods
and I forget my body. I forget that arms,
that legs, that nose. I forget that waist,
that nerve, that skin. And I aspen. I mountain.
I river. I stone. I leaf. I path. I flower.
I like when I evergreen, current and berry.
I like when I mushroom, avalanche, cliff.
And everything is yes then, and everything
new: wild iris, duff, waterfall, dew.”
~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
It is National Poetry Day. Poets have often made my world more bearable, and the book in my bag hums. I think about it as my feet travel from soil to pavement.
5th October
Sometimes the sadness comes and there’s not much to be done. I know by now to sit with it and hold it. It will pass. Today I don’t want to go outside. I don’t want to breathe the air.
As dusk comes I force myself to the garden. There are little mushrooms in the grass now thanks to recent frosts. Nature knows. The Cromdale hills are slate coloured and looming. The blackbirds are singing. I collect the dried poppy heads and scatter their seeds on the wild bank over the fence. My ripples will keep rippling. How many seeds have I sown?
I eat a raspberry and pull some beetroot for the neighbour. I cut the remaining rhubarb. I harvest some of the apples off the tree, if they let go on a quarter turn it means they’re ready, I think. I scoop them in my jumper and return inwards to the thick air.
17th October
Time is flowing fast now. Busy days have been intersected by long glances out of the window. But the river and the woods draw me out again today, at last.
The earth smells stronger now, of leaf and soil and all of the micro wondrous things happening that I can’t see. But yes, I can smell them and bring their image to my mind’s eye. Memories of childhood prickle to the surface. Nostalgia is a sad feeling, yet I seek it so often.
As the dark earth busies itself with important work below my feet, above are nature’s fireworks, the beech and birch trees dancing in the golden light and unseasonably warm October breeze. They hold moisture that sparkles with the movement. My eyes water looking up into the light, the entire world is gleaming.
Swaying and shining beard lichen adorns the lower branches, this will be their season soon, their time to feel the sun and show their peppermint textures to all who will notice. There is colour everywhere, even in the darker realms of the understory.
Reaching the river, the water feels high and more rusted with peat. Maybe it’s just the bright afternoon light, bouncing around in the flow that makes it seem this way. I think to myself that today will be a day for sparkles, for stars and extravagance. In the bronze waters, leaves and pine needles are floating, spinning and twisting. Some gather in the shallows, many are lost to the inevitable journey back to the sea.
Back into the woods, and the rowan berries are still there, darkening, blood red. It is a sight I never want to forget. They are truly outshining the leaves now, yellowing and browning. Soon the berries will be alone, each one with the potential of an entire tree. Each one the potential of decades of life and life-giving.
21st October
The sun is bright but the wind is cold and a mizzle blows through the air freely. At the head of Loch Garten, waves lap, but in the shallows the reeds and grasses sway calmly in dappled and gently rippling waters. I’ve watched them do this here many times, it feels like a ritual to stop and observe them.
Shape and shadow feel particularly strong today, with water bringing them into form. The rain dances through the forest catching sunlight, and twisty pinewood is silhouetted against the metallic Loch. It is quiet, bar the laughter from my children.
It feels somewhat appropriate that the colour today is subtle. The pine rust is muted and the water isn’t the deep blue I know it to be. The Loch surface is like silver, hammered gently by ripples and encasing the detritus of the surrounding trees. If I could take it home, as a sheet of shiny metal, I would.
I visit a familiar tree, and glance into the marshy pools formed by the path to see what’s what. The light breaking through intermittently warms me before the wind and rain draw me inwards again.
24th October
There is a kaleidoscope of colour at Huntley’s Cave, a transient moment between entirely bare branches and the leaves at their richest colour. There has been enough leaf-fall to bring the colour of the lichens and mosses into the celebration – that’s what it feels like. And the bracken adds more purple and orange to the forest floor, they are fascinating to me.
The larch is at its best, delicately standing and holding tight to its needles while it can. They are almost neon with their vibrancy. On closer inspection, there is a rainbow of colour within each branch, from vivid green to deep orange. I’m grateful to see it, it won’t be like this for long. I think about how brief so many moments are in life, but also the soul-embracing impact they can have. I sense things will become more fleeting over time. It’s not a nice feeling.
The crags are dappled with bright lichen, and their slate blue colour brings coolness to the otherwise warm autumnal scene. Purple bare birch bark and rowan berries pepper the view. None of it seems real for a brief moment. It is the middle of the day, and the light feels strange. I feel strange.
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