Twittening

Call it a path, a trail, a ginnel, a beaten track, a byway, a footpath, a groove, a wooded stroll or a snicket - by whatever name one chooses to call it, my favourite way through the woods is a happy trek. I take it often and at any time of the year with a camera slung around my neck, an old blackthorn walking stick in hand and Cassie trotting along by my side. My standard of dress yesterday was deplorable, and I seemed to be a tatterdemalion creation made up entirely of patches, withered leaves, twigs and blowing bits, but howe'er I looked, my outlook on life was downright incandescent when I was pottering along.

The Lanark woods are wonderful places to wander in any season, but they are not neatly groomed parkland, and as I walked along yesterday, the effects of winter's ice, snow and high winds were showing up everywhere, but the snows have receded, and the forest is slowly coming alive again. The prevailing palette is still made up largely of greys and browns, but in a few days there will be Bloodroot, Dutchman's Breeches, Violets, Trout Lilies, Anemones, Hepatica, Trilliums of various sorts, Columbines, and wild orchids aplenty, each appearing in its own space and its own good time - my woodland is a very resilient place, and in Spring it regenerates itself with enthusiasm and energy. In a spectacular opening gambit just a few days hence, my walking trail and the whole forest floor will be gloriously carpeted in tiny rose veined blooms of Claytonia Virginica (Spring Beauty). Perfection in every way. . . .

For me, the perfect-just-as-it-is woodland path in Lanark is a twitten, and a good word for my random cronish pottering these days is "twittening".