The higher ups control the weather
Those blow-hards push it round
In global leagues they move together
So high above the ground
The jet set sets the rules below
Clouds at their beck and call
Typhoon tycoons that blow and blow
The jet stream rules us all
A steady wind was blowing through the park today. Firm and insistent, the cumulus clouds in the sky moved with a decided briskness, hinting at more energetic happenings above. Within the Woodlands the only sign they gave was a constant low level whistling, Dead Moll’s Fingers, Dogs Vomit Slime Mould and Witches Butter oblivious to the machinations of the atmosphere.
The plant kingdom continued its steady transition into spring, the garlic-onion scent of Three-Cornered Leek and Ramsons a ubiquitous odour beneath the canopy. Herb Robert was increasingly in flower, with Germander Speedwell adding blue to the colour pallet of the increasingly bountiful Car Park.
Beyond the Lesser Celandine and Grape Hyacinth Caravan Terrace was yielding Dog Violets beside its prolific Primrose population. A Jay perched on the bridge above the dell and the grasshopper like calls of a Wren could be clearly heard from somewhere further down towards the ocean. Water trickled down the limestone exposure, small geomorphological structures forming on its surface. These may eventually grow into something resembling stalactites, but the name for the horizontal version escapes me. Nevertheless, the contrast between biological and geological time can be beautifully observed here. Take a little time to do so, I’m sure you can spare it.
Over the water the black tipped wings of Gannets skimmed low, the forms of the largest British seabird echoing the prehistoric like so many Avians. On the Dry stone walls the yellow crustose blooms of Caloplaca aurantia and flavescens provided radial decorations. Every inch of this place is home to something, it feels good to stand in a place so utterly infused with life.