Walking down the hill last week, I noticed a line of trees beyond the local allotments. Later, I asked Jen if there was an accessible wood there. It turns out that there is. Jen used to take short-cuts through it when she was a girl. This afternoon, she took me to see it.
The wood has apparently grown a lot since Jen last passed through it. Overgrown is definitely the word. I loved it. It felt like the sort of woods I used to play in as a child: unkempt—completely unlike the carefully managed woodland you tend to find in more family-friendly, National Trust-type properties.
Jen was keen to show me an old graveyard at the bottom end of the wood. She was surprised (and a bit dismayed) to see how overgrown it had become, but I thought it was wonderful. What a great place to be buried, deep beneath the undergrowth, feeding the plants and animals. I have a pet hate for modern cemeteries with their manicured lawns and fairground carnivals of grave tributes: soft toys, plastic flowers, helium balloons—where's the dignity in those?
Much better, it seems to me, to be buried away in peaceful seclusion with only the occasional robin and curious local for company.
More photos from today's woodland walk here.