"I have seen landscapes, notably in the Mourne Mountains and
southwards which under a particular light made me feel that at any moment a giant might raise his head over the next ridge."
~ CS Lewis
The moss and pine needles underfoot are a welcome change from the hard, gravel track I have just left. There is a new spring to my step as I make my way through the overgrown arboretum. In the shelter of the forest, scraps of dusk begin to settle in the trees like huge, grey crows. They hang from strands of ivy and conifer branches, growing darker by the minute.
The park warden has informed me that the sun will set around eight, so there isn’t much time. I scramble as quickly as possible through the dense undergrowth, but brambles catch my jeans and briars scratch my hands. It is as if nature has shaken itself to life and experienced frenzied growth to make up for a time when men tended the gardens at the big house.
Now there is a strange, orange glow up ahead. Suddenly, I emerge into a clearing lit by the last rays of the setting sun. Its light filters through a channel in the woods to a copse of twelve tall redwoods. Their bark is bathed in light, as if on fire.
the boundary . . .