Near the lake there are blue damselflies and behind a white arum lily plant there emerge 12 ducklings walking in a line. There is a lime hawk moth waiting there on an angelica plant. Walking through the woodland, two tawny owls are sitting in the branches of trees, another flies overhead, the sunlight coruscates through pine trees. The land lives in my pulse and heart and blood, in my sinews and muscles. A lacewing fly takes off from a branch and is prismatically illuminated in the sun. Its antennae languidly rotating and tiny wings vibrating.
All these tiny events which are happening are the most important thing that could be happening, in all their sensuous detail. More important than the falling and rising of empires. I reach the highest point and the valley stretches out beneath me I can see about thirty miles to the edges of dartmoor where the big Gods are. Swallows fly past following their invisible exquisite swirling spiral pathways, like a skyform of Bagua. An iridescent green beetle. I can smell the sea not far away and its red seaweed estuary spirits. I eat gorse flowers, wild sorrel, pignuts, stinging nettles seeds.
I send a healing message to a friend, a rook flies across the inside of my sight and at that moment I look up and hundreds of rooks and jackdaws appear overhead taking about ten minutes to pass over such is their number. Speaking in their alien language. Stilling of the senses. Delicately curled wet ferns. Crabapple and beech trees, warm and delicious. A deer moves somewhere out of sight. The creeping of an ant carrying an ant pupae. The valley entirely filled with mist, mist rises from the river, the Oak forests dream far below… the sky deliquesces in innumerable colours…. the sun’s translucent liquid light