Earthed




Hedgetrees exude an energy of moving, even frozen in their dance: it goads a passerby to wander further.
I've come this far, I could take a stroll in the woods.
The top path is shining, licked by rain. All the fallen leaves make soft compost. Trees grip the abrupt edges with roots like dinosaur toes. Where the path is smothered by fallen timbers, there is a new path being worn beneath. Above is rotted limbs and some low badger tracks.
I've never trod there, and it's so close. I've come this far.
The bracken is black, frost smitten; the prone wood-flesh uncomfortably soft. Only the brambles are green and fresh and drag blood from unwary skin. Where the track runs out is too steep for standing, descent happens as a seated slide.
Sometimes the moss here grows bigger than the trees.
Three hours pass. Dog and I, mud flecked, drowsy, find the house again.
We both seem surprised, to unearth this life outside the woods.





Comments

  1. Suze3 February 2013 at 21:33

    When I read about these treks of yours, I feel gnarled. At 'the end,' I become self-conscious and 'see' that my face is contorted in virtuviscerality.

    You force something out of your readers, Lily. Not that you're trying. It just happens that way. Take for example,

    'the prone wood-flesh uncomfortably soft.'

    I have never stepped there, and yet now, in a very real way, I have and I can never go back.

    Does that make sense?

    ReplyDelete
  2. Lisa Southard3 February 2013 at 21:54

    It does make sense Suze, and it makes me do a hedgetree dance :-) xx
    -Virtuviscerality!! Superb!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Geo.4 February 2013 at 07:18

    Again, magical. It all seems to be reaching into the future, trees that have jumped their roots, hedge that has laid itself, toward something. Time is recalibrated --added, not deducted.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Lisa Southard6 February 2013 at 00:20

    Thank you Geo- this is a good summation- recalibrated time :-)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Thank you for reading my words- my chance to read yours here:

Popular posts from this blog

Unusual Koalas

Image
23/4/22 Saturday Coffee and stretches start this day, then I go off to work and Mr readies himself to meet Contractor Thomas on the land, to talk tracks and flat areas for camping pitches. (This meeting has taken around 5 months to arrive, and that’s how it goes with land plans, folks.) Hydrotherapy sessions have restarted, so to keep our care client entertained but not tired prior to this we have set up disco lights to play over her mat where she sits with her toys. It’s a cool clouded day and we are all disco-dappled and listening to birdsong on YouTube. 24/4/22 Sunday Rain, moderate, mostly over Bodmin Moor. Our care client is tired from her hydrotherapy yesterday, she plays on her mat in between snoozes. We have lakeside and beach scenes courtesy of YouTube; she loves the sounds of nature, I love pretending to be on a writing retreat. Get writing done in short bursts. It is not easy to world build in break times like this, but we edge through it. I type ‘we’ here because Care Clien
Read more

The Week Of Clarke And Covid

Image
30/4/22 Saturday It’s not odd to wake up achy. Yesterday I was dragging and rolling logs, amongst other land tasks. I don’t feel right though, so I take a covid test before thinking about heading to work. The control line is bold red, the test line is barely visible but it’s not not there... message my coworker to pre-warn her that I might not be arriving, though the result may be erroneous. Wait one hour. Re-test. Both lines bold red. Mr’s test is negative, putting him on nurse duty. It feels wrong, at first, not to be off to work, but while I am sitting in bed reading up on the pros and cons of stone tracks; drainage issues in particular; the excitement of having a rest kicks in. Mr goes to the shops and comes home with a cream tea.  1/5/22 Sunday The last calendar month of spring begins with light rain, light grey sky, barely a breeze. The hedge birds have a lot to say; swallows swoop by the bedroom window so fast I see only a fork-tailed blur. Today I rest, I write. 2/5/22
Read more

Worth Every Ache

Image
9/4/22 Saturday Overnight a frost had lain down on our lawn, nestled to the edges. Sun rose unobstructed, warmed the ice to water, gave it little rainbows to wear. At work, I walked to Bethel Tesco to discover they do not have ink cartridge recycling envelopes anymore. They advised that I try the post office- also nope, but the post box had a yarn-bomb bunny on it, and the sun was warm, and everything was cheerful. 10/4/22 Sunday A frost, a pair of coffee cups, a lecture on agroforestry: we start the day right. Browse trees for a while, then up and on with daily stuff like raking out the fire ash and going to work. 11/4/22 Monday Morning: wild wind kicking through the garden. Put my pots in sheltered spots. Drive to work slowly because fuel is expensive, many high-sided vehicles also going slow for safety reasons, roads are busy due to Easter hols, definite convoy vibe.  Outside the air is fresh, bright, summer seems possible, another frost also possible- mischievous weather. 12/4/22
Read more