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Country diary: On it flows, this lick of flame through the forest | Merryn Glover
Badenoch, Cairngorms: As we pause above the river, a sudden flash catches our eyes – a red squirrel is rippling along the branches belowIt’s early morning and the sky is a billowing parachute of blue, bursting its seams with sunshine and the fluffiest white clouds. A cool wind blows up Loch Insh, roughening the water and bearing the scent of spring. From the island, a song thrush pours out all the trills, beeps and chirps of its bravura performance, oystercatchers pipe and a woodpecker hammers, the sound echoing around the hills.In the forest, the birch trees carry no hint of leaves but are shaggy with moss and lichen, their twigs falling in soft fronds, wine-coloured and beaded. The trunks are irregular, pitched at wild angles, curving and bent, sometimes two or three growing from the same base. In contrast, the pale aspens grow up as straight as telephone poles, sharpening to a point at the top. All their branches rise in upturned spikes, bare but for the tiny ink strokes of twigs. At the centre of the woods is a stand of oaks, vast and spreading, last year’s dry leaves still spilling across the moss and the crushed bracken. Continue reading...
Badenoch, Cairngorms: As we pause above the river, a sudden flash catches our eyes – a red squirrel is rippling along the branches below
It’s early morning and the sky is a billowing parachute of blue, bursting its seams with sunshine and the fluffiest white clouds. A cool wind blows up Loch Insh, roughening the water and bearing the scent of spring. From the island, a song thrush pours out all the trills, beeps and chirps of its bravura performance, oystercatchers pipe and a woodpecker hammers, the sound echoing around the hills.
In the forest, the birch trees carry no hint of leaves but are shaggy with moss and lichen, their twigs falling in soft fronds, wine-coloured and beaded. The trunks are irregular, pitched at wild angles, curving and bent, sometimes two or three growing from the same base. In contrast, the pale aspens grow up as straight as telephone poles, sharpening to a point at the top. All their branches rise in upturned spikes, bare but for the tiny ink strokes of twigs. At the centre of the woods is a stand of oaks, vast and spreading, last year’s dry leaves still spilling across the moss and the crushed bracken. Continue reading...
