A walk in the woods

“Can we go for a walk in the woods today?” asked Little P.

“Yes,” I said. So we did. And in the wild wood we could hear the sea’s roar through the trees, from far away, like a restless lion.

Little P said, ” We’ve been here before, remember? But the wood looked different then.” He looked up into the sky.

“Oh no,” said Little P. “Someone has stolen all the leaves from the trees! Who would do such a thing?”

And I said, “Time, Little P,and the wind’s hand and the turning of the world.”

Mary smiled. She was a wise bear. “It’s autumn, Little P, maybe winter now. In autumn the leaves from some of the trees fall to the ground. But first they go golden or red like flames. The fruit and berries on trees and bushes ripen, feast for birds and for bears. Some bears hibernate in winter but first they eat as much as they can so they don’t get hungry.”

“Not all bears hibernate do they?” said Little P. He did feel a bit sleepy from walking.

“No, Little P. Not you and not me. You could never eat enough to see you though a winter, you eat so much.”

Little P smiled. He was hungry already. “I do,” he said. And inside his head he thought, I’m going to see if I can eat enough so that I can hibernate for a week.

“Sometimes,” said Mary, ” the leaves make a carpet all over the ground, a beautiful pattern.”

“How many leaves are there on a tree, Mary?” asked Little P.

“Not as many stars as there are in the night sky,Little P,” said I.

Mary smiled. She was a wise bear. “It depends on how big the tree is Little P. And not all trees shed their leaves. Some are deciduous, which means their leaves fall in the autumn and new leaves grow again in the spring, fresh leaves, bright buds, sharp green. Some are evergreen. Their old leaves still fall to the ground, but they always wear their green clothes.”

“Like holly, and ivy?” asked Little P.

“Yes,” said Mary.

We walked on and sat for a while in the mossy shelter. In places the wind had woven dark branches together. Copper leaves still clung tight to tender twigs.

“Sometimes in winter you can see the subtle architecture of birds nest, Little P, balanced in the trees,” I said.

“She means nests,” said Mary. Little P smiled. He loved Mary.

We reached the beach and the wind blew hard.

“I’m cold,” said Little P, and he put his woolly hat on.

Mary and me and Little P sat for a while and we looked at the sea.

Then we headed off, for there was work to be done, and we walked along the low path on the way back home, beside the river water as it ran to the sea. Sheltered here from the wind by all the trees we were warm again, but could still hear the fierce sea raging.

The sun on the winter bone tree branches was beautiful. In the woods jays chased rooks and small birds called to Mary and Little P.

Before we went home we went to the bookshop, in Fishguard. Seaways. To sign some books. Mary and Little P were hungry from walking and Little P said he hadn’t even had breakfast so the lovely ladies of books bought him a cake that he shared with Mary, and as he ate he thought about all the leaves and how the wood had changed.

“It’s always changing,” said Mary. “And it’s always beautiful.”

“Yes,” said Little P. He looked at the cake and then he said, “If I ate all that cake do you think I might be able to hibernate for a week, Mary?”

Mary just smiled. She was a wise bear.

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