“It’s Wednesday and here I am in the woods, with song thrushes, blackbirds and robins all around me, there are flies humming through the hazel branches and a fragmented light is moving fractionally over the ground as the breeze slips through the bright leaves above. It’s 5.00 o’clock; sort of tea-time, but I’m not bothered by that, or all that is usually inferred by 5pm. There is nothing else I should be doing. There is nothing more important now than to write, precisely and watch these ants crawl over the damp leaves around the base of my tripod, listen to the birds and look at what it is like to be right here in the late afternoon”
HCW May 24th Forest of Dean