My Summer Sunday walk had led me to the edge of Matley Woods and the campsite. Rather than walking through the busy campsite I decided to take a path through the heather, not knowing where it would lead. The going got rather tough, dense gorse and a steep slope with very little sign of the path. Things did not look good and I thought I might have to turn back.
11 August 2013
Despite my worries the track, narrow as it was, continued, leading me into the woodland for the first time. To my right the campsite was close by and I could see the caravans I’d been hoping to avoid. Before long though, the caravans were out of sight and I found myself skirting the edge of Matley Woods.
Sunlight dappled the grass, still green thanks to the shelter given by the leafy canopy. Ferns had taken full advantage of the shade too and the vista before me was lush and green in contrast to the white sandy paths, purple heathland and scorched grass I’d just crossed.
Gnarled trunks of trees hold a fascination for me, I love the different shapes and textures, some even seem to have faces reminding me of Tolkien’s Ents. I love the dark branches snaking off into the air like the ink blown paintings I created at college. The path was wider now and I met the occasional walker coming the other way. Good morning’s were exchanged and I wondered where they were going.
Then I saw the kissing trees and I was enchanted. Two trees had grown so close together their knobbly trunks had entwined until it seemed as if they were embracing. On closer inspection they really did seem to be frozen into a perpetual kiss. These are the things legends are made from. Walking on I imagined the story, two star crossed lovers running away from families who want to tear them apart. They become lost in the forest and starve. The Gods look down on their bodies, clinging together in a final embrace, and turn them into two trees together for all eternity. Can you tell I studied Greek Literature? I also have an over active imagination.
A little further along I came to a fallen tree, polished smooth by the elements. It looked just like a wonderful sculpture. Walking through the heather in the sun (well mostly in the sun) was nice, but give me a wood any day. You can’t beat trees for entertainment. Sadly, just around the next bend it became obvious that the path I’d taken had been slowly twisting round and I’d walked in a rather large circle. Instead of avoiding the campsite, I’d circled round it and was now coming at it from the far side.
There was nothing for it, I had to walk through, running the gauntlet of noisy campers, radios and TV’s blaring. What I don’t understand is why you would go to all the trouble of driving out the the New Forest and setting up camp then spend a beautiful day inside a caravan watching TV or listening to the radio? Oh well, nowt as queer as folk as they say.
By this time I was more than an hour into my walk and my thoughts turned to Commando. He would be almost half way through his run by now, how was he doing? More than half my water was gone, it was humid, even in the woods but Commando wouldn’t be in the woods, he was running the roads, mostly over the Heath. Of course he carried more water than I did, but would it be enough? Would he be able to cope with the distance, the sun, the heavy air?
Please see my copyright information before you copy or use any of the above words or pictures.
Wonderful story to imagine about the trees! A story worthy of Greek mythology perhaps… Lovely shots too.
All that studying Greek Literature )