I set off walking again, it is a windy blustery day.
The trees are planted in long straight rows, walking into the woods the trees have the feeling of a church or cathedral. It is very dark and almost silent, there is a surprising lack of bird song. The silence is occasionally broken by snatches of birdsong.
Walking along the forestry pathways I am struck by the creaking of the trees, they do not all creak. I have to climb up into the woods to record it. I wonder if holding the recorder up against the tree will make the recording more intense.
Richard comes back from one of the possible venues for the Film Festival with two old albums, full of sequential photos of the knitting process. The albums have been left under a leaking window, the images have been water-damaged. It almost seems to be a mirror of the process of change the landscape is going through.
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