The solitary pine in the woods of Mowsbury hillfort this afternoon. There was no one else about except some boys practising their golf on the hill. The moats are fuller with water than I've ever seen them, and the hill is squidgy and slippery with rain. The wind played a tune in the branches of the pine and then another in the ash and thorn trees. One short dark creature crossed the path ahead of me - would that have been a stoat? - and scuttled through the nettles and down the bank. The scene made me think about the 'war artist' Ravilious. I'm going to see a documentary of his life at the film club next week. |