A Day

It was a serenade, but not for us. Blinking with his pale eyelid, he showed off his health, his territory, and his infinitely delicate song. Unfazed by our ever-nearing presence, he lingered on his favourite rock (marked with guano, he’d clearly been here before), and sang and sang and sang.

It was then, lying on the undergrowth to the side of the path, that I realised the perfection of this moment. The ground was dry underneath me, the sky an almost uniform grey, though some small shading brought a depth and a life to the uniformity. We’d had the most perfect walk and here stood this wee bird bringing us down to earth. And I mean that as a compliment, for what could be better than being on this here earth. To feel the ground – the stones, the puddles, the ice(!) – beneath our feet, to have our souls lifted to the ether through the medium of song, to have these moments imprinted on our brains forever.

It was my partner's birthday and we’re newly engaged, and this life brings a joy that’s been unparalleled so far. There’s a contentedness, a love and these worldly moments bring another lightness. 

Earlier we’d stood in the middle of a plantation. In front of me was a huge Douglas fir, the resin blisters linking layers of growth, the strong height of it belaying the greater mass. Beside me was a moss-clothed oak, narrow and spindly, craving up towards the light. The moss layer underfoot was thick and luscious, last year’s leaves crinkly and dry lying on top, and while the light shone on the edges of the polytrichum, the sphagnum glowed from within. There was a pause. To not stop in a space such as this was to lack humanity, or maybe something deeper than that, something more primeval; there was a new feeling in this hollow space, a feeling that could be vigilance, if that was something we still felt.

Moving through the darkened barrier beyond the fir-space brought us into the light. Suddenly there was nothing above: the air was clear, the sky silver and the space opened up. I let out an involuntary gasp, for in front was the most ancient of ancient oaks. They were gnarled and bent, crooked in the way of the very elderly, with the bark of the stems hidden beneath layers upon layers of mosses, and an umbrella of ferns highlighting the austerity of winter-bare trees. From young to old, from quick-growing to slow, it felt like passing into the faery realm, like finding Old Father Time, like coming home.

A buzzard took off from a nearby spruce, labouring into the air, tail streamlined and body heavy until the wings collected enough lift. She wheeled round, high, before releasing one single, solemn whistling call. Alone, she passed overhead and that was the last we saw her. Our eyes were yet again lifted by another lonely call as a crossbill flew across the grove, lilting flight calm and easy, but the call expressed distress. With no answer, it sounded like a loneliness which had been carried by the buzzard too.

Still, we lingered. This oak-home wasn’t one to wander through, it deserved care and attention, and that it received. Photos taken, trunks adored, permission asked and in silence given I entered this moment and this place into the great collection of moments that are stored for future visitations, both physical and mental.

Some days set out to capture our imaginations, but fall short. Some seem like an ordinary day and are lifted to the eerie of the gods. Others do not fail to live up to the highest of expectations, and continue to give moments after moments, that perfectly line up into a spectacular whole. It is easy to feel the need to travel huge distances to have these magic moments, but in truth, this entire day was spent just across the river from our house. Indeed, we could see our house at several points, and the magic was no less for that. That dipper sung the song of my soul. Now, I sit here writing this, and I wonder where he is now. I am sure he’s cooried into a nook, cosy as cosy can be. Feathers fluffed, feet wrapped round some small branch or twig, and as the stars twinkle above him I can feel them shining above me. We are of this same world, the dipper and I are. And, happily, so are you. Welcome.