Heading to the forest. A good destination. It has already yielded what I seek aplenty. There is always a tangle at the edge, beneath the trees, where the sun still reaches but there is shelter. Brambles, briars, bracken and nettles grow here, with all their attendant insects.
The wealth of the landscape announces itself. I am distracted by an oak tree hyperactive with blue tits, all twittering to keep in touch. A woodpecker is chiselling into another tree. I can hear him. Then something disturbs his industry and he flies off with a mocking laugh. A wood pigeon flaps clumsily. There are squeaks and titters, rustlings and small scuttely movements.
I search. I find my first, close to the rose-coloured blossoms that’ll make others. The sun reflects its lusciousness. It comes away easily in my fingers. It is ripe. Sweet deliciousness explodes in my mouth.
This quest is like a meditation: hunting down more sweet blackberry indulgence…. while I am delightfully distracted time and again by dragons and damsels, shield bugs and iridescent beetles, brimstones, peacocks and admirals, tortoiseshells and lacewings.
The forest is a city of delights.