I’m walking through the woods to a huge old granny pine that’s gnarled and twisted, its lower branches thicker than the old plantation pines around it. It’s a beautiful, steady presence. The woods feel lush and full of birdsong. Thick strands of new-growth heather poke up. In the afternoon sunshine the mosses glow and creep up and along the trees. There’s a lovely old Scots phrase, moss fa’en, to describe a fallen tree that’s now shrouded in green.
Near the granny lies a deep chocolatey-brown peaty mire that often has hoof prints in it, and I’ve had a camera on it just to see what is there when I am not. It’s clear that deer visit this place quite regularly, sometimes singly but often in groups, and use it as a wallow. At night, they’re sometimes reduced to the vaguest of shadows, and mostly they’re quietly passing by and the camera captures the bright dots of their eyes as they cross the frame. Occasionally their eyes gleam like headlights as they face the camera. They might be in groups of seven or eight, perhaps more, and they’ll linger and tussle, hoof and splash around.
