Brambles - thoughts on rampant summer opportunists, us and more

My daily walk into our slice of woodland has been barred by the eager and  rather angry combination of bramble, nettles and bracken.  It feels as though they have a point to prove.  They really don’t want me there and say it with spikes, stings and then a wet slap from the bracken.  The thing is as a human I have an easy defense mechanism up my sleeve, in this case the long nosed long handled cutter.  I went armed with Queenie at my heals.  I cut my way through to reveal the old path.  Hot scratchy work but when work leaves lacerations and red lumps on your arms you feel you have something to show for it.

Bracken is 7 foot high -
you are dwarfed and smothered by it

Can you spot my path...

Today I went to review my path making and allowed myself to look at life through the eyes of the rampant summer opportunists.  The warmer weather, bursts of rain and much sun encouraged them to have their moment and grow and grow a bit more, shading out the slow growing ground flora.  It conjured up all sorts of analogies. 

If you are average, be virulent and snatch chances where you can. The scrap merchant approach to life - pick up old washing machines, junked cars, even scale the odd church roof for lead, turning waste into gold. If however you are not average but subtle and refined you have to find a way to shine by being different occupying a rare niche. But these thoughts made me admire the bramble. It even offers up a beautiful delicate pink flower to pollinators and a rich fruit for seed eaters to gore on before autumn.  I felt pangs of guilt snipping its thorny tendrils. Why should I cast myself in the role of its judge and executor?  Then I had to notice the human will to control and dominate.  It’s this wish to tend and bend nature to our purpose that has created the world around us.  The places on this planet untouched by human hands are tiny fragments in harsh corners and indeed I knew such a hidden place in Mozambique.

I’m then overwhelmed by another sense. My slice of wet woodland on this slope down to a winding stream is chirping and whirring with the sound of birds.  Sun is reaching the ground in small pools and the air is thick with the scent of river, soil, moss, and a concoction of plants and flowers throwing pollen and phytotropin out - a cocktail of communication. One of the smells I know is bracken and it reminds me of my childhood, cutting banks of it at home on the edge of the ancient woodland to make way for the sea of bluebells.  It’s a reassuring smell, strong and aromatic brimming with self-assurance.

The cascading ivy add to the sense of wild wood


This is not bracken but one of many general ferns in this damp woodland

My heart heaves into my mouth.  This has an air of Mareja about it.  Today it feels wild and bursting with shiny, sticky, saturated life and I am an awkward observer but it's beautiful and all consuming.

(This harks back to my other world, an old world and fills me with deep painful longing...but I have to remind myself how lucky I am to know what wild-ness feels like.)


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