This is the hill where I live one winter evening. I love how the setting sun has lit up the sky just over the trees, and how the rays of light are thrown up into the air above it.

I love how I know all the paths on the north side, but have to still learn the paths to the south. I love the steepness of the steps making you wrestle for your breath like wrestling with an angel on Jacob's Ladder.

I love how the wild garlic has unfurled through the woods on the cliff and how the fallen tree stumps compose the wilderness. Birdsong is everywhere. Tight buds on trees are waiting for the mild fingers of sunshine to tease them open.

I love how the tame robin eyes me in the garden as it pulls up a juicy worm and snaps up half right in front of me. The celandines invading the grass are so mirror bright, I love the little grass spiders sunning themselves like tiny folded crabs.



I love how the phalanxes of seagulls circle below in the city, but never come up this high. I love the ferny streams in the gullies. The ordered allotments lie quietly together in a civilised manner, raspberry and bean canes in a row.