I've spent the last five weeks rehabilitating the ankle I sprained back at the beginning of October by walking slowly but doggedly around the Field of the Hollowing Oak (difficult because of its tussocky nature), through the Small Dark Wood of the Mind and along the footpath by the embankment (difficult because of the greasy mud), and over the farmland that will shortly be under development. But first a look at the innocuous scene of the accident. (Must pay attention when walking down a rough, stony slope.)
In mid-October it was still warm and the ground was dry, and I spent some time lying on the grass beneath the hollowing oak that was still in full leaf and very green. I'd been worried that being laid up on the settee at home meant that I was missing the best of autumn, but this wasn't the case, particularly not where the oak was concerned.
18th October
27th October
30th October
3rd November
10th November
12th November
16th November
19th November
It's been fascinating documenting the changes day after day.
Elsewhere in the field, the glorious colours of the Rookery and Rooky Wood in mid-October have all but vanished.
The only remaining colour comes from the inhabitants - jays, magpies, rooks - who engage in noisy and repetitive corvid warfare, complete with the Charge of the Rook Brigade.
Another change in my absence was the cutting of a path right through the middle of the field. We had a bit of a panic when we first saw it, fearing it might be something to do with the development of the land beyond, even though the field is earmarked to remain as a 'green corridor' on the plans. Then I remembered the swathe is exactly where the footpath runs on the map, even though everyone walks around the field edge, so maybe it's just that someone to do with footpaths has instructed someone to do with maintenance to keep it clear. I've been sticking to the perimeter path mostly. A path is really only a path when it remembers feet, and cut stubble is tricky to walk on.
And pity the poor ants whose nest was sliced open and predated by wasps.
Otherwise, wildlife has been thin on the ground. As thin as the fur of this poor creature ...
'Looks like a rabbit, mam'
... and the leaves now revealing emptied nests.
The ashes which looked so stunning a month ago ...
... are now in a state of undress ...
... but not before they provided a spectacular golden path through the Small Dark Wood of the Mind.
Ashes are only ever not magnificent when they've been felled, like the ash on the lane leading to the golf course that gave me a poem nearly two years ago.
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Other trees notably having a (metaphorical) last hurrah have been the field maples.
Colourful detail has come from berries, fallen leaves, fungi, and the few flowers there are about.
Bryony berries, bramble leaves, hawthorn berries and field maple, oak leaves, Cwtch in the Glade of the Golden Apples, ash leaves, spindle berry, sycamore leaf
Waxcaps, meadow waxcap, field mushroom, shaggy inkcap, butter waxcap
Clockwise: dandelion, dead nettle, fox and cubs, hogweed (most of which now resemble the broken colossus of Ozymandias), cat's-ear, unseasonal bramble flowers and beech catkins, wild carrot, buttercup, selfheal
I really like the way the cloud in this photo is emulating the spectral hogweed.
Fractal shapes in cloud
Charlton Common
The Field of the Hollowing Oak on the skyline
As winter comes on, the light is changing again, seeming softer somehow.
... a reminder to keep looking for moments of light until the Light comes back.
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