Cookworthy Moor

Another story for you…

I live along one of many historically protected boundaries in Britain.  Conifer plantations surround me these days, but my ancestors before me grew here and were allowed to remain along a stream line, even when all other neighbours were felled to make space for the new plantation.

My family name is Beech, me and my peers are common, and when allowed, we grow tall and strong.

But alas, where I live is so exposed and windy that I grow stunted and my branches spread away from me in the direction of the prevalent wind, so much so, that those looking at me may be forgiven to think that I am trying fly away.

Where I live is so exposed and damp that I become covered in a blanket of moss, so snug that those looking at me may be forgiven to think that I am cold.

I am still young and my leaves turn red but do not fall, so even when my older friends have undressed for winter, I still have my red leaves like a young teenager’s chin fluff.

I am still so young and the moss covers me whole, so after my older friends have undressed for winter, I still have my soft green cover like a baby’s comfort blanket.

This is how I got to be noted by a stranger during a one-off stop for lunch on a sunny but breezy December day, at the end of a pot-holed lane. This is how I ended up on a photograph and drawn in ink pen…

Ercilia Gardner, 25.05.2020

Cookworthy Moor, 2020 (Ink Pen)
Cookworthy Moor, 2020 (Ink Pen)

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