I look out the window and see the leaves flashing green and
think of walks I’ve taken recently, how I march now through a tunnel of
treetops bending. This is the settled Folkstone, this shining place, with a
forest encroaching on the road and the road obliging.
Step off the road, follow
the path, and you will enter a place of gathering sunshine. As the road is
greening, the woods are clearing. The big trees are falling, dying, living out
their natural lives. They are tumbling down in fierce rains and big winds. They
are falling there, even if they’re not heard, and we, the walkers, are the only
ones who notice.