Fordell
It has been a while since I have been able to walk any distance and, it being such a lovely day today, a nice lunch in Aberdour was had and a short walk at Fordell on the way home.
It hardly seems credible that eight weeks ago, I had a complete replacement of my right ankle. I will not bore you with details but things are looking good so far for a decent recovery and the return to mobility. It hurts, of course, and swells with little provocation but I can actually move around again. Today was the first time walking more than a few metres since the procedure.
The hawthorn, or may tree, is just budding here at the moment but it was seventeen degrees according to the car. Not quite “taps aff” for me, I am afraid, my English roots are showing. Warm enough to enjoy careful picking along the woodland pathway, watching out for rocks and roots that threatened to undo all the good work of my surgeon, Mr Red Trousers, or “Mack the Knife” as we call him in our house.
Passing precisely two people and one dog on the woodland walk, there was plenty of headspace available to enjoy. The dog was friendly and keen to play sticks, excited as he was to be heading for his favourite library along the pathway. The people were friendly too and politely interested enough to engage in brief conversation about the birds above us. You can hear more than you can see, of course, and it is delightful, even if, as always, the wrong lens was on the camera for birding.
The usual suspects lined the dappled walkway through the cathedral of beech, birch, and oak trees creating a spring canopy overhead. It has been so long since the cameras were out I had forgotten some of my own basic rules, like not relying on autofocus. Even in the Fuji cameras, it needs the operator to place technicalities before art, resulting in a tension between composition and sharpness. It doesn’t really matter for today, which has all round become a bit of a test run for old habits.
The dappled light created a magical stage for observation, with frequent pauses required to listen and watch the secret lives played out all around. Birds and insects sang, fleeting characters in a fast-moving liminal allegory unfolding all around us. Artefacts from stories already played out litter the scene, echoes of the past transformed and reused by a new cast.
On the walk back, there is a gap in the tree line that provides a nice view across the landscape to the bridges, over Fairy Kirk and Castland Hill to the dockyard. It was worth just basking in the afternoon sun, not just for the view, but to give the new joint time to cool down for the final stretch back to the car.
