A walk on All Souls Day

There's not a soul to be seen up on the hill on All Souls Day.


It's a fine November morning here on Bluebell Hill, with the leaves in the trees rustling louder and louder and transforming into a mighty roar.

The chain on the gate goes clink, clink, clink as the ravens caw and circle overhead. The dog disturbs a pheasant which takes off with a mechanical screech into the woods.

Grey skies, but I can see the sea on the distant horizon.


There is an old hollow beech tree up here with its own cold tub for the fairies to bathe in as part of their morning and nightly rituals.



There's a swing with a view, mushy brown leaves scattered on the grass. There are penny buns here if you know where to look, and magic mushrooms a-plenty.



Back through the time portal gateway and a new day is dawning.


Down below, the village wakes as, on All Souls Day, I pause for a few moments to think of the souls of the people I have loved. They mingle around the trees, swooping and swirling.



You can feel it here. This place, experienced alone, is special.

And here is a fallen tree - beech again, I think - chopped up in rounds and destined for winter fireplaces. I stop to count the rings in one of the slices, a privilege in a hectic world.


There are exactly one hundred.


The dog and I walk through the gate, clean off our muddy feet in the stream and head for home.

That's about it.

Love Maddie x

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