In an Archaic feeling misty rainforest, I feel like I could be in a forest in Washington State. As I observe my surroundings I note the trees look dead apart from tallest ones, despite the deadness of the trees this is actually a healthy patch of land, because some of the trees are dead more light is entering through the canopy and there is new green sphagnum moss everywhere, it is almost neon with green, such vibrant greens everywhere, even in February on a gray day, perfect environment for horsehair parachutes come Autumn, but maybe a little too bright for them. I emerged from the house today just ‘because’, it’s a wet day and there aren’t many people around. Everything is dripping wet. The canopy is cathedral esque. A friend once told me that cathedrals are modeled after forest canopies, splaying out at the top, we partly evolved around forests so I can believe that. The thing I notice the most today is the peacefulness, the dead branches with pure clear rainwater glistening in droplets, they look almost frozen in time. In another context I wouldn’t look twice at them. Funny how such a beautiful place can lay undocumented for decades, just 20 feet off the beaten track. A perfect example of why you should just duck under a bush and yomp off into the undergrowth on a whim, you might find a place like this. Looks like no one has ever walked up this little area in decades. I could be in the middle of nowhere. If I were in a vast American or Russian forest I’d probably have to be on my guard, but there are no predatory animals here so I can relax, and enjoy the stillness, the best of both worlds. Deep calm emanates from the green and pitter patter of rain as light gusts whisper and whoosh through the cathedral canopy. Sticks mutedly crack underfoot as I advance slowly deeper into the lush unwalked forest floor. Dark fungal blooms jutt out of dead logs, brown preserved leaves lie undisturbed, no smell, just a fresh cool pure pre spring day.
Many think of May as the first fully green month of the year. I say white. Elderflowers, wild garlic and Hawthorn all start flowering in May. I couldn’t sleep last night because of the heat so I awake early and am out running before 7. The day is nothing special, it starts off slightly overcast. The run is also nothing special, but all the smells of May are here, as I focus on my breath and the mild burning of my calves I notice the ultra distinctive smell of Elderflowers, nothing else like it, followed by wild garlic. I stop to catch my breath and have a little moment watching the water roll by, no plump trout to be seen but I know they are lurking in the shadows allowing the cool oxygenated water to flow through them in the darker areas. As I finish up the run the sun begins to burn away the denser cloud to reveal a silky white late spring haze. The rest of the day is spent relaxing.
Milky sun casts diffuse light on everything, my favourite kind of light. This tends to happen around March. Seals honk, snort and wail on slabs of rock and seaweed between the mainland and the calf. A trawler labours through the the tidal rush, a phenomenon where sea is funneled between 2 large landmasses. The tides race against each other invisibly, creating static standing waves. I hear waves sloshing against surging seaweed. Grass shimmers in light wind and white sunlight next to me. The Mountains of Mourne hover above white sheets of Marine fog in the distance. The calf of Man – an island of solitude – sits solidly nestled in calm sea. Light white cloud hangs in the blue sky as people amble around here united in bliss on the first nice spring day of the year.
I wake early today, in time for the very first signs of the morning twilight. Venus still shines brightly, a familiar dawn friend, a single buoy in the bay bleeps dutiful green. Seagulls are already hovering and squawking incessantly. A few sparse gray clouds hang in the deep dark blue air. Palm trees flutter gently in the sea breeze as the waves make a satisfying hiss. Streetlights add a synthetic tint to the immediate surroundings around my apartment’s balcony. My fingers tingle in the crisp air. I take a sip of a hastily made cinnamon coffee. A perfect drink to brew, sip and hold in cold hands, perfect for an early morning start in pristine air. Coffee coats the mouth with a mildly fumy, aromatic spice taste. I look up to the sky and see a single aeroplane contrail, high enough to made silver by the sun, which is lurking undetected behind the horizon, ready to spill forth the day in all it’s fluorescent prestige.