Sunday of last weekend was spent in finally finishing my book, which was emotional to say the least, then a walk at a nearby demolished manor house site, which was… emotional to say the least.
The walled Summer Garden – the only walls left
A fairy house, and, surely, the entrance to Wonderland?
Not everyone understands when I say that I feel the joy or sadness or desperation or fear of a place, but I believe people, events and even objects can leave a sense of themselves, and this place was terrifying. At one point Dapper stepped out amongst these mossy walkways and I thought I’d be physically sick – I was rooted to the spot.
It was only when I exclaimed aloud that we were leaving that the feeling of the place went from utter fear to desperate sadness, and I felt an almost overpowering desire to just sit on the wet leaves and cry my heart out. I didn’t, needless to say…
I think one of the eeriest things about the place was the lack of evidence of humans. Holes in tree trunks were devoid of hamburger wrappers, and only an old wooden tackle box and some very old tin cans suggested the once presence of a fishing party. And whereas funghi this size would usually have been kicked free of their roots, here they grow to epic proportions:
Much to my distress, we got a little lost, and ended up loitering into the gloaming. As we wandered amongst the enormous and ancient Redwoods and Yews, I informed Dapper with rising panic I would not be venturing back here!