Across the long meadow, our woodland stretches along Durlston’s eastern flank; today exposed to the chilly north-easterly winds.
Tree branches float around in motion as you step into the woods and grow in velocity towards the coastal path. The sound of warbling Blackbird fades and gives way to the jittering leaves which become increasingly distressed, and rattle with the howling wind.
My hands are forced deep into my pockets as the cold air fills my nostrils and forces water to stream from my eyes. Here, the branches dance in a frenzy of movement to the beat of each gust which batters the slopes. Beneath the windy wall, waves roll into the bay and crash upon the shore, churning out a mess of whitewater, seaweeds and Kelp ripped from their holdfasts.
Retreating back to the sheltered cradle of Sunnydale, it’s a delight to find the Cherry Laurel positively beaming with red fruits. Here, below the Milton seat, fresh leaves sprout across the Hypericum, Elder, and Hydrangea. Handsome yellow petals upon the Primrose, and Celandine underfoot.
A change from the browns of bare earth, fallen twigs and rotten leaf mulch, Ground Elder and Wood Dock have formed carpet of green around the Sir Walter Scott bench. Whilst a field of Garlic has cropped around ‘Shakspeare’, broken only by the occasional Wild Arum.
Back across the meadow and the wind relents and my ears open to the sounding Great Tits and Robin. It’s lovely to see the lighter emerald-green leaves flourishing upon the Japanese Spindle, and clusters of white flowers upon the Viburnum. A single Goldfinch charms me from an Ash Tree, and Gulls chant in the distance.