Wenlock Edge,Shropshire The mist settles like a mood, yet these long nights and murky days are wonderfulA yew tree looms in the fog, or a brooding presence hovering in space above the cliff,not of this world. One of a cluster of wild yews, old and stunted from growing out of limestone and an obstinacy that refuses to recognise time as we measure it, and this tree floats free of meanings we impose. Also free and unbidden,the fog settles like a mood over the Edge. It is myopic, melancholic, or a unlit humour yet strangely comforting.
Recent storms own shredded the last leaves from the ash trees; saplings rise like bones and the old ones bear dangles of ash keys as whether a flood tide had washed them there. Even the last golden oaks in the dale own been snuffed out by gales and their skeletons form an inner architecture of the fog down there.
Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com