After a clear, chilly night, the thick mist melts – first on the great wooded ridge that splits the Somerset Levels east to west, then later below on the “moor” itself, where the grid of grass fields and rhynes forms a silage factory. Even down here, a mellow sunlight, slanting low, picks out colour in the sparse hedges.
The seasonal and the drought-driven are tangled. It’s confusing to this eye, trained to the seasons’ changes from more than 50 years in rural occupations. Stress creates a superabundance of seed, but also the stunted, wrinkled form of some berries of elder and hawthorn. Blackberries, again, are plentiful but many are small and wizened. Travellers’ joy, profuse in its silver-green, pre-fluffy form, touches yards of hedge with rippling liquid light.
