When I had talked to my father about the woods in Devon, he said that I should go back to Skaigh. This is just a few miles from the farm house. It's in a steep valley right on the edge of Dartmoor.
It was my stop-off when I left Gary and Elise to set out for Northamptonshire. Given the journey ahead and the need to do some work when I got back (as well as a relatively late start after spending the night in the oak tree), I wasn't there for long.
What struck me was the green light. Leaves and moss and ferns and all the green reflecting off the river... it was rather like being under water.
Oak, beech, ash, rowan, hawthorn and hazel...
As in all less disturbed woodland soil, I could see some oak seedlings. Not as many as in Burnham Beeches or Blackaton, but I was pleased. That said, few young trees.
I love the shapes and shades. I love the sound of running water and the purity of the river. In the farmland, all the stones in rivers are covered with slimy brown algae, but here that is far less prevalent.
I saw a few walkers and a dog... but no-one close enough to speak to.
The place feels ancient... a little spooky... no, uncanny. You could believe in faery-folk here. You could believe in trolls. And you could also experience a deep and cleansing peace. Both are true. Imagination inspired and sympathetic nervous system re-adjusted. there is a magic in all this greenery. Food for the soul.
Green light. I like that.