Off the conveyor belt into the woods

Old men still standing

Gusting winds deterred me from leaving the village and walking through the woods to the Penrhyn Castle workshop, but I was determined to go and was glad I did. In the woods the wind fought with the topmost canopy and left me alone below, so I was glad to listen and not feel it as I walked. Comparing today with yesterday is chalk and cheese. I was relaxed in both, but traveling leaves me passive whereas the woods relax me with vibrant life I can scarcely take in.

The massive chestnut is the biggest I have seen and this ‘old man of the forest’ seems still to be in good condition, firm in root and solid. I can’t help but trace my eyes along the curious interlocking contours and fathom the tree’s depth with my minds eye. It’s dropped branches rest in silence with undulating ripples and pin knots revealing curly grain and bird’s-eye speckling. I left the limbs to return to the ground and walked ever deeper to the river below.

Reforesting deforested land takes centuries.

A man plants in hope for the future and life reclaims our past failures day by day and year by year. Can my work counter the futile waste of conglomerates like IKEA and Walmart producing products from pulverizes trees and reproduced powdered wood-based fillers and resins. Real wood, real joints prove faithful to me as I walk and consider things for the future. I am keeping my faith that in some small way little people can lift the damaged and broken world from the wanton waste beyond these organisations.

 

 

 

Life lives on

Here is life resolved in fine veins, clinging in spores and cells to thrive on decay. Shining, translucence reflecting more life beyond its own and resting in beauty. I work in wood but can never make what I see beneath the leaf above and rotting branches by my thigh and feet.

 

Rains of falling light

Fall spins in in gusting thrusts and winds wind between the saplings in twisting flurries in my face. I look beyond the trees and rain falls beyond the estuary and so too beneath the mountain’s start in Welsh valleys rich and deep fertility. It’s the rainbow splits of sunlight in bands of brightness with red and orange followed then by yellow, green and blue, through indigo and on to the shortest violet. This brightest sunlight enters the drops of falling rain creating colours with each drop now struck by light at differing angles and in splits of time each emerges in single colour formed through each drop and we then see but seven colours from many millions of splendid drops of rain and here they seem resplendent at my feet.

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