I walk carefully, through a natural tunnel – one that you could easily miss – fringed with needled branches. Then the space unfolds itself out into the living cathedral of a circular yew tree.
The shouts of the children become half-remembered, as I taste the quiet that lingers in the air here, a flavour of peace. Even bird song is hushed. The silence, or muted noise, as the children duck under branches, disappearing into the network of spreading branches, holds poignancy within a twigged basket.
I breathe the green and brown smell: fresh growth and old wood. As I move through filtered light, drawn as always to touch the rough bark of the largest trunk, feeling this wood of a thousand years, a million needles cast off under my feet. An indoor outdoors.
Calm replaces my busy, and I am at peace.