The old ruins were my destination again as I wanted to feel my way toward the young oak tree in the graveyard. I had experienced this tree as detached, contained, uncommunicative. Harriet suggested that I return and approach gently, see if I could find out what was going on.
What I experienced was a sense that the tree felt burdened by responsibility. Here, on consecrated ground, a young tree, all of maybe twenty years old, in a place where veterans should be. The tree felt lacking.
This time, I felt drawn by the tree, who seemed to experience some relief at my willingness to share his loneliness. He feels lonely. There are no oaks around. No guides or mentors. No examples to follow. No mother tree to provide support.
The tree has to take upon himself the values of this hallowed place. The land humans have found to be endowed with significance. Really, this alien knowledge haunts him and he yearns for the wisdom of trees. I know how he feels.
For the hornets, the south facing wall of this man-made place is a gift from heaven.
I walked downhill from the church to a small and polluted river. It is silting up and so different from the clean moorland streams.
But on the silt, I saw a lot of prints and was wondering.... otters? Water voles? I need to look in my mammal signs book. I expect they are just dogs and rats.
Still, I imagined there were otters, though the lack of fish would surely be a disappointment, and this cheered me up until Clare sent me a text saying she had found an otter dead on the side of the road. She has collected the body, which the Otter Trust asks people to do, and will call the Trust to collect it.
They are such glorious animals and I know that their numbers are recovering - but too slowly for this not to be a blow. And this one otter... lithe and beautiful... so sad. It is hard to bear so much grief.
So sad about the poor otter x