The air in Hyning Scout Wood curtained the moss green boulders in the sweetest scent: an aroma of unnameable memories tinged with honeydew and some heady ancient perfume.
Probably the Lime trees, the ones that also goes by the old name Linden. The nondescript blossoms, low slung below a single pale propeller were nowhere to be seen. High in the canopy these late blooms released the scent into the sun-warmed upper landscape and the heavy perfume sank slowly to the ground to the delight and intrigue of woodland wanderers.
Romanced by this scented tease I strived to catch the spirit of the rock tumble below the inland limestone bluff. Ivy clambered through feathery mosses and ferns spired from loamy crevices. Darkness cloaked the understory where strange fungi pierced through.
Silence prevailed.
My footfalls amplified by the echo chamber of rock, I felt the need to creep quietly and breathe with a whisper.
Eventually the stories came to court me.