Mist

Today a low lying mist sits in the valleys. In pockets among trees. Not the dense fog of the past few days. In Fineshade Wood all around the word ‘dank’ comes to mind. Not that this is a bad thing. Drops of moisture hang on twigs and branches, wood is turned black and dark brown from weeks of soaking. Shades of green moss creep up trees, almost fluorescent at the tips. Matted leaf litter covers the ground, sodden, at various stages of decay. Mist hangs in the cold air. Weeks of freezing temperatures have left thick ice in ditches. I’m reminded of Andrei Tarkovsky’s film ‘Stalker’, the dripping mid-winter stillness suggests the no-man’s land of ‘the zone’ in Martin Cruz-Smith’s ‘Wolves Eat Dogs’. I like that feeling, imagining vast tracts of lonely land, rather than a small part of Rockingham Forest in Northamptonshire.
Not that this forest is devoid of life. There are plenty of blue and great tits and more coal tits than I have ever seen together, the odd marsh tit too. In places mixed flocks of some these along with long tailed tits bring the seemingly dead trees to life as they sweep their way through on the perpetual winter search for food. Sections of hedgerow seem to be dripping with redwings, that flee in small groups as I make my way along the path.
After Fineshade, a brief trip skirting the edge of Blatherwycke Lake. Most of this is still frozen, despite it being some days since the thaw set in, with all but the biggest drifts of snow now gone. On the water swans and tufted ducks mill around, the plaintive whistling of wigeon drift through the mist that hides them. Light fades, another midwinter day ending, time to be inside with coffee and shortbread.

Ice and mist on Blatherwycke Lake