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It really felt like a spring day as we drove out to the forest this morning.
A pair of cyclists led us along the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive.
At intervals I left the car and photographed the forest scenes.
The usual amount of fallen trees festooned the floor. I have mentioned before, that, apart from some which is sold to be fashioned into something artistic or useful, the timber is left to rot where it falls, as an aid to ecology.
Some of the stumps in particular have disintegrated before our eyes during the few years we have lived here.
Even close to midday, the sun is still low enough in the sky to cast long shadows across the carpet of dry autumn leaves.
Last year’s bracken has not yet shrunk in the presence of Spring’s burgeoning coils.
Beyond Boldre an arrogant cock pheasant strutted erect through the heather.
Further on, a group of ponies were celebrating the fact that, courtesy of the recent rain their food and drink were both available at the same location.
An apparently dead tree would seem to have fallen into the water. Actually the water had fallen around the tree, beyond which the white pony guzzled the gorse.
On our return home we took our main meal of the day at Holmsley Old Station Tea Rooms. I chose steak and ale pie with short crust pastry, carrots, peas, and chips. Jackie’s pick was Stationmaster’s Rarebit. She drank cappuccino. I drank sparkling water.