How can a walk in the deep dark woods turn into a piece of art a year later?
It all begins on a quiet Sunday morning in November. Waking up to a cold but dry day seems like the perfect time to pull on a jumper, hat and boots, grab the dog and head out to the woods. I absolutely love woodland in Winter, the damp smell, the crackle of twigs beneath my feet, the chance upon the odd fungus and the suspense the possibility of seeing a less frequent wildlife sighting brings.
For me woodland sparks imagination. When it's dark and gloomy you hear things that probably aren't there, or if they are, then you have no idea what it is. When it's warm and sunny, shadows create pictures and light glints off leaves creating a little fairytale magic. All these elements mix with memories and ideas I wish I could bottle and keep.
Travel back six months and in complete contrast I was walking along the coastline near Bedruthan steps, watching birds darting all over catching snacks, busying themselves nest building and fluffing their feathers. I was at complete peace with myself and the world, and again away went my imagination, thinking of all that makes me happy and positive.
The hedgerows were filling with colour from the yellow gorse and pink thrift. I remember looking down and wondering how a random purple geranium had found its way here, it's definitely not native to the Cornish coast, even though if you walk past most gardens with a Cornish hedge you will see them planted there.
Jump forward over a year and we are in lockdown. I was sat looking out of my window a little over a two weeks ago feeling a little trapped, and wondering if I would ever feel these freedoms again. I've been out of course, and I consider myself so lucky to be able to enjoy the coast around me, but now there is a little nagging feeling of unease when I am out walking. And so, in an attempt to 'bottle' the feelings of carefree freedom I created, 'Edhelys', Cornish for place were Aspens grow. If you look closely you will see the two days I just told you about.
