Standing still, listening to the silent sounds of the quiet day, I imagine these bare branches bedecked in late spring with their seven-leaf briar rose. Closing my eyes, I can smell the sweet heady air of the rose. High, high above me, a lark sings in celebration of the bounty to come. In autumn, I may return here to pick the black, black gold to fill our jam- jar treasure chests.
Throughout this walk, the landscape is primarily agricultural. There is a mixture of tilled and fallow fields and between them stand stately, tall oak trees, their branches dividing the fields like referees in a wrestling match. The heady, dank, mushroom smell of freshly tilled earth permeates the air around me.
Going ove the crossroads just below Wester Logie, I met a Scottish Government magician who turns computer code into money for the puir wee fermers. His magic wand (a GPS system) strapped on his back and linked to a laptop computer hanging (perhaps embedded) to his chest, measures the size of 'field margins', which determines the size of grant allocated to them by the EU. He works a five day week, four in the field (literally) and one in the office. No bad work if you can get it.
To the east, the snowy hill tops behind Memus and Noranside light up the horizon. Up and over the hill to reach the next up and over the hill, walking between the spooky trees that line the link road between Westmuir and Loch of Kinnordy. I passed by the Westmuir community woodlands where I could hear on the wind the squeals and shrieks of young children playing. Nice to know bairnies are still allowed to do that! Just before Kinnordy the heilan' coos are chewing the cud and having their own contemplative experience.