We watched long-tailed tits skip from branch to branch of a holly bush. We paused with held breath, unsure whether they were yet to sense our presence or were paying us no mind. Snub-beaked fluff balls with elegant tails, the rose blush of their bellies visible in brief glimpses afforded by the moments of sunlight breaching the woodland canopy. These woods are all verdure and luminosity. Silhouettes of leaves perform like shadow puppets on the path as we pilgrims pass through gently in holy silence. It is temple, shrine and church.
I imagined, I hoped, that we were alone. Just us, our footsteps, our love, and no-one to remind us that we were walking trodden paths. But a man was coming our way, older than us by double and wearing a panama hat. I step off the trail and veer into the woods to give him two metres and I catch sight of that familiar old scornful glance.
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