Away with the fairies up on the hill

There’s a light dusting of beech leaf confetti, the leaves slowly spiralling, diagonally, to the ground.

The grass is wet with dew and the trees are prematurely ageing, after a short spell with no rain.

Up here on the hill, just before the dog and I enter the time portal gate, there’s the remains of a tree trunk. It makes a handy bench from which to look out over Lush Places and the valleys and hills beyond.

A leaf falls on my notebook.

That’s good luck, isn’t it? Catching a leaf? I make a wish, just in case.

From here I can see just one mast up on Rampisham Down, where in years gone by there were many. You could see them from out at sea. I remember on the road one morning, when I was on my way to work, the masts seemed electrified in the sunrise. I rather liked them. They had a strange, other wordly beauty, and now they are gone.

The dog fails to see the squirrel scampering through the long grass, like a sea snake undulating through the greenery. But I do.

At the top of the hill, someone’s strung fairy lights on the right hand pine. A fairy, maybe, or a tall lady or a man on a ladder.

Their battery boxes flap in the wind.

The wind blows through the beeches to cause a small, leaf shower.

I can see the sea from here but, as the crow caws, the temperature drops, the fog descends and then I can’t see very much at all.

Out through the time portal gate, those hills and valleys and solitary mast are hidden in the mist.

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