Tree-lines, Wood-words

This is a place of split definitions, Welsh words and English words, a place of unexpected alignments.  The Radnor Forest looks Welsh, dramatic , distant, even harsh, whilst the woods on the hill seem typically English; full of dappled light and birdsong.  Both in Wales, both equally high, yet these comparisons remain.  

Felled trees on the hillside like the elephant's graveyard, huge tree-limbs and grass hidden in trunk-crotches, grey bark paling in the sun, un-nourished by the roots.  A place of giants, even fallen they seem to tower over us.  The exposed bark softens in colour from angry creams to greys and silvers.  The woods have moved, a margin has been cut, the hilltop and tree-line have been redefined magically, heavily, beautifully.  Roads torn for heavy machines are healing, crumbling and disappearing beneath new grass.  Wood up close is heavy, immobile, even awkward, suddenly uprooted and left out on the hill.  The stumps still stand and if left would sprout again perhaps, recover from this massive pollarding; but in October the hillside will go, will be blown up by the quarry for Olympic roads.