By Toby Dossett
We get deer in the field over the wooden fence,
Some with antlers that poke out of the tall grass at the start of autumn,
When the ferns have begun their retreat.
If they’re feeling brave,
They will vault the fence,
(you can sometimes catch them in the morning)
And they venture to the apple tree that we planted several years ago
And catch the last fruit of the season
Before it rots on the ground and joins the earth and bugs,
In summer we get dragonflies and butterflies and lots of bees,
Once, the bees settled in the panelling of the house and I wanted them to make their home there,
I like the sound of their teamwork,
Another summer, an adder decided the best sunbathing spot
Was in the middle of the drive,
I told everyone that if I was an adder,
I would sit on the gravel and soak up the sun much the same,
He was left undisturbed,
If you stay up late at night, in July
The bats are active just before the dewiness seeps through the ground,
My brother took a great photo of the dew,
It’s one of my favourites,
There are badgers that burrow on the little hill near the beds of moss,
I never see them but follow their intricate paths through the pine trees,
When I was younger I made a map of the woods,
It even included the swamp on the other side of the brook,
(you need big wellies to go exploring there)
Where the big skunk cabbage grows,
The map is still on our kitchen fridge.
You can collect pinecones, touch the curl of ferns,
Admire the silver birches dappled with lichen, Guess which trees the sparrows are nesting in,
Climb the fallen tree and test your balance, And lie on the plume moss,
You can do all of these things in this place,
My dog Honey loves the woods too,
She sprints round and round the loop,
And when you call her
She bounces like a gazelle through the bracken and gold of the browning fern,
She chews sticks in the place that’s calm for meditation
And licks her paws when she treads on a thorn,
Not many other walkers have found this place, Because the bridge across peanut butter brook,
(it’s stained rusty orange with copper)
Is very frail and thin,
You wouldn’t want to fall in,
Which Pop did once,
And he was very grumpy over Christmas dinner,
The holly is becoming invasive there now,
I try and pick out the little shoots before they become too pesty,
And I always prick my fingers,
And then I’m left with a sting that’s maybe saying,
Leave the woods alone,
it’s doing what it wants,
(but I certainly don’t want the woods to be full of holly bushes)
((that would not be pleasant))
I will think of a solution in the meantime,
The woods help me to watch the seasons
And break up the time of my own
Yearly existence
I know which trees do tree things when,
And when foxgloves should start to appear,
My mum’s favourites are:
The lilac bluebells
(more things should be lilac in this world)
which blanket the grove on the way up to the field,
The trainline runs perpendicular to,
The frosted grass in the winter,
I like to spot the red-kites
Beady eyed and engaged
In dogfight and the hunt
We sometimes watch each other in harmony,
Because they know I don’t scare away the field shrews.