Under the Sequoia

I returned to check my sentinel beech. There were volunteer litter pickers there, clearing up after a group of travelers. Apparently, the travelers had stopped there for a week. There was a lot of rubbish. Plus, they said, the skin and head of a deer. The woman said how bad it was to kill animals. I didn't ask if she was vegan. I did suggest that some people eat roadkill instead of leaving corpses to rot on the roadside.

Maybe I should have helped. Instead I went in and sat with the place for an hour, listening to the birds. Photographing them was not successful.

I watched a feather blow in the breeze.

Often at this place I have deep thoughts. On this occasion, I did not. There was a wren in the same place where I saw a brave wren last year. There were many snail shells under the young oak. The hornets' nest is empty. A robin sang and tits shouted at me. A buzzard wheeled overhead. The sun came and went.