Rewilding
I go down to the bottom of my road, past the sports pavilion and old mill-house. Through a gap in the hedge, an unsteady path leads to a shingle beach where the Turret meets the Earn.
black alder, butterbur, common hazel, wych elm
This is a quiet place, frequented by dogwalkers, occasional joggers and child-sized explorers. The path, ancient and footworn is mud or dust depending on season, and the beach expands and shrinks according to the appetite of the river.
wood avens, hawthorn, Italian maple, hedge-wound-wort
A half-forgotten curl of land: untidy, unplanned, neither striking nor showy, riotous in summer, rich in autumn, spare in winter. Its design is organic, seeded by wind, birds and time, its roots generations deep.
creeping thistle, coltsfoot, mouse-ear chickweed, lady’s thumb
I often have the place to myself, though I have, on occasion, disturbed hedgehog or fieldmouse. My peace is punctuated only by birdsong, shouts from the rugby pitch, or chatter floating across from the official path on the other side of the river.
sweet cicely, bitter dock, great woodrush, sorrel
It is not the quickest place to anywhere. Sometimes I march through, determined to squeeze a proper walk into my lunch break, but mostly, like the rivers I amble and meander. I stop and look.
bramble, blackthorn, holly, ash
Slowly, over time I learn the names of the bushes which cling to the riverbank, the summer grasses which encroach the path and brush my bare legs, the trees whose canopies soften the sharpest rainstorm.
smooth hawksbeard, red campion, bush grass, sycamore
This is where I come when the world is too much with me, when my head is jangling and my heart is sore. I come to hear trees breathe, and birds sing.
black locust, yellow broom, German camomile, English oak
My toes stretch seeking roots, arms and fingers splayed in arboreal embrace. I shake my head, let curls scrumple and rustle, whispering their spells.
wild raspberry, common snowberry, stinging nettle, forget-me-not
