Beyond the Forest...

Walking along this particular road, I often stop to lean on the greying wooden gate.  It swings inward over a cattle grid and opens into a narrow dirt track overhung by trees and edged by long grasses and wild flowers.

 

I can see that the track disappears around a bend entering an Autumnal forest.  Twisted branches lock together overhead and cast dappled shadows across the ground.  The trees spread out on either side of the track as far as the eye can see and beneath them bracken and moss add colour and fragrance to the forest floor.

 

I long to discover what is just around that bend and to follow the track through the thick mysterious stand of trees, to explore what lies beyond.

 

I can hear the sea in the distance and smell its briny fragrance on a gentle breeze that ripples through the topmost branches of the trees.  Despite a hand painted sign inscribed on the gate telling me that I am entering a private place, I slip a leather strap from around the post, push it open and enter the shadowy forest.  

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Light filters down through the canopy above and flickers between the trees as I walk briskly along the track. This forest has clearly been planted out formally many years before with a mixture of European trees.  Here and there a native grows incongruously amongst the maples, liquidambar and ghostly silver birch trunks.  The floor of the forest is littered with coloured leaves and they drift softly down catching in the dappled light like golden coins.

 

It is an unusual sight so close to the coast.  These Autumn colours belong in the colder, more inland places.  It adds to the strangeness and mystery of the day.

 

Something russet moves between the trees blending perfectly with the red tones of autumn leaves.  I turn quickly and it freezes in its silent tracks, calmly staring back at me with golden eyes.

 

It is beautiful.  The healthiest fox that I have ever seen.  Foxes aren’t welcome in this part of the world.  They are introduced predators that kill poultry and small native animals and birds.  Farmers shoot them or set bates to poison them.  They are often lean and mangey with wicked pointed faces but this creature is not at all like that.

 

From its luxurious red pelt and white bushy tail, four black socks and black snout edged by white  and flowing in a snowy ruffle down its throat, it is exquisite.  A bird calls from the other side of the forest and the spell is broken.  The fox disappears through the bracken in the direction of the sound.

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I continue along the narrow dirt track as it winds deeper into the deciduous forest.  I notice that there are plants growing amongst the usual wild flowers and grasses along the verge that have almost certainly been planted there for their beauty and I can’t resist the urge to stop and pick myself a small bouquet.  Amongst the Queen Anne’s Lace and native grasses, Silky Purple Flags, Blue violas and forget-me-nots bloom in striking contrast to the Autumn colours of the trees.

 

The sound of the sea grows louder as I round a bend in the track to discover that I have reached the edge of the forest.  The trees end in a neat curve and the track continues  up a gentle rise towards the ocean.

 

As I stand within the the shelter of the trees, I see the fox break clear of the forest to dash up the hill towards a small white cottage surrounded by a wild garden.

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A cry comes from the fox as it reaches the top of the hill and a moment later the door of the cottage opens and a tall slender woman steps through the garden gate.

 

From the shelter of the Forest below I watch as she leans downs so that the fox can leap into her arms.  She hugs him to her stroking him and crooning to him as if he were a kitten.

 

It makes a strange and beautiful spectacle, the women and the fox, the picturesque white cottage surrounded by its wild garden and even the hillside sloping up towards the sea that breaks itself on the cliff face below.

 

The land surrounding the cottage has been laid out with a small fruit orchard and a vegetable garden.  There is even a few rows of grape vines following the contour of the hill.  Chickens peck in the garden at the woman’s feet displaying no fear of the fox at all.

 

Spellbound, I watch from the trees, not quite believing the extraordinary scene.  Something wild calls out from the forest behind me, perhaps a vixen?  The woman and the fox turn in unison to look in my direction.  I draw back behind a tree and watch as she gently lowers the fox to the ground and goes back into the cottage closing the door behind her.

 

Now the fox is running through the grass down the hill towards me.  He stops for a moment and stares at me with his golden, almond shaped eyes.  He lifts his snout and sniffs the air for my scent.  Clearly satisfied that I am a friend, he steps lightly passed and disappears once more into the bracken.

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