Backstone Bank,Weardale On the ground, on fallen trunks and limbs, or the first signs of life were forcing their way through the skeletons of final summer’s leavesI felt the sting of ice on my face just before I reached the shelter of the wood. The squall appeared as a sullen grey mist as it swept down the fell,engulfing grazing sheep before it roared through the tree canopy overhead. A blizzard of tiny hailstones hissed as they bounced across the layer of dead leaves around my feet.
Seeking refuge on the lee side of an oak, I leaned against its trunk. It pushed hard against my back as it bent beneath a swaying crown that clattered against neighbours’ branches. There can be few more exhilarating ways to experience a gale than to feel its elemental force transmitted down through an ancient tree’s trunk and into your own body.
Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com