Homer walk

The open woodland holds a joyous orchestra of noise: brooks babble under bridges, frogs croak under the sedge, birds provide a continuous descant. Climbing some steep steps, I’m surrounded by violets and primroses: soft pools of colour amongst last year’s leaves. The gaps in the canopy are steadily being filled in green, yet on the ground there’s only the emerald of euphorbia. Anemones’ eyes watch me from a coppice, or perhaps they’re just admiring the huge cherries blossoming behind. Out of the woods, the land is far from open in the early morning mist, which clings to the trees of Farley and Sheinton. Caging me further are steep hedgerows, which show the first stitchwort, and muffle the call of crows foraging for worms in nearby fields. After 1km I'm into denser woodland. The ground is thick with storm debris and wild clematis tangles the trunks. Bees search amongst the garlic and dog’s mercury for potential nests. I follow one to the base of a huge ash: its muscular buttress roots have quarried away the Wenlock limestone, yet have themselves fallen prey to parasitic toothwort. The hedgerow is filled with pheasants and above me broad winged buzzards block out light from between trees.