The Woodcutter's Clearing

Huddled back into the shelter of a timber porch I found a hiding place from the cold breeze. Around me I could hear the hum of a chainsaw some way off, this was the only sound to break the silence and stillness of the view before me. As the sun set mist still hung around the bare branches of skeletal trees cloaking the remains of the day in a grey shroud. Beneath the shroud the woodcutter's clearing stood unused. Neatly stacked logs lay across the ground and the sleek red metal chute of a machine projected from the tarp hiding the more delicate components from the weather.

I enjoyed the serenity immensely, the clatter of day to day life with its crowds and interruptions faded away in the silence for a while. The sounds of a family passing by were no distraction, they too were enjoying the last of the afternoon. In a bustle of excitement the two young children scampered across to a muddy puddle and splashed down sending a cascade of brown water across the surrounding soil. Their parents laughed off the inconvenience of cleaning the mud spatters, it would appear they had long since realised the appeal of the humble puddle to a child. I focused back onto my sketch and by the time I had composed my next few lines and returned my gaze to the woodland beyond by focus and peripheral vision, the puddle stood still and the immediate quiet around me gave the impression the passing family had never been there.

With the twilight upon me and the mist descending into a winters gloom I stood up stretched and walked away along the woodland tracks for a while. Before me lay more scenes for sketching but these would have to wait for another time. I bid farewell to my surroundings and took refuge beneath my hood as I too left, leaving only a memory in ink.