Of course I had to go back, I couldn’t let it rest, that almost-achieved walk along the outer rim of the forest, which had been disturbed by the large white landcruiser which appeared so suddenly and noiselessly and (to me) inexplicably. (see Part I)
And it’s another sunny day, the sky intensely blue, though the wind riffling through the valley is chill. So I go back through the quarry and up the track, and these woods now have an austere kind of beauty to them, these long slender red-brown trunks of the Scots pines and their dark green crowns, they have come to be companionable to me now.
And so serene and still and peaceful is the atmosphere that when I think about the white landcruiser I decide it was simply a coincidence, I was not being followed or checked out, its appearance had nothing to do with me. (Though I’m still not sure.)
I follow the track uphill (with rests) but this time I take a right hand turn and this branch track carries on through the trees, right to where the forest ends. There is no need to scrabble through the sharp and sticky pine branches, I come out on the hilltop and the plantation and there is a clear view over the hills, and no fence on one side which makes the high fence near the forest, a bit redundant.
I follow the narrow strip between wood and plantation downhill, round the edge of the trees, and when I come round the corner, above the quarry, the wind vanishes, it is unbelievably warm and peaceful in the windless sun, and I sit down in the grass and watch the crows sail up above the quarry edge and slip down again, as if they are riding fairground horses in a rhythmic carousel.
The trees on the edge of the forest are more widely spaced, some Scots pine, some larch and further on, several silver birches. Grass grows under them and between them as if they are part of some huge garden. As I’m following the path (small and delicate, not a human footpath, an animal track) I spot two deer ahead, coming towards me. I duck into the trees and bring out my camera and when I emerge again they are no longer moving closer, but standing still. I manage a photo of them before they turn around and run off.
The path comes out at the track leading up from the quarry. Down in the valley, the train goes over the bridge that crosses the river.
The tops of the pines stir a little, hardly at all, as if the slightest breath is moving through them.
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