Harvest moon socks finished and a walk in the woods LONG

This will be long
We went to visit a friend of ours and had a walk through the woods while we were there. It is a Buddhist monastery on the bay, rather lovely woods with old old trees. Interesting little nooks and crannies and hidden courtyards.
stairs that go nowhere just for the fun of it.

Ancient towers
very Gothic and needing some TLC on the old buildings.

lots of decoration to be seen.Both old-
and especially new. Notice the gold towers and ornate gates.
Yet also note the old Victorian greenhouse, fairly recently renovated with grant money and under used. No vegetables growing here except one or two for a resident. Wouldn't you grow enough for the community if you could? What a waste of grant money to do it up and not utilise it.
Yet more views of the turrets of the old priory.



Some of the trees were changing colour.
Some had eyes and faces watching you as you went by.
Some were old and gnarled
Some just strange and reminded me of mangrove swamps or being under water.
Eerie in the day and even more so of a night.


Waiting to grab you as you walk by perhaps?
Then as you walk the ancient woodlands you see your first glimpse of the bay.It beckons you onwards.
Some signs of the beach to come lie in the undergrowth
Some parts of the tree rise up as if to strike, anyone else see a snake in there?
It is fungi season now and these were colonising the tree.
The ones on this tree led your eyes upwards, a tiny staircase for fairies perhaps?
This part of the woods always reminds me of the Rudyard Kipling poem, "The way through the woods"

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods

Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods. . . .
But there is no road through the woods.

or is there?

When you get onto the beach a surprise awaits. An apple tree or two growing despite the salty air, apples ignored by all who pass. Plenty of food for the wild ones.
Berries as well
Secret ways into the underground, or possibly rabbit holes?
We had the place to ourselves as you can see.
Then as you walk you come across the most unlikely sight. A pet cemetery.
Strange trunks and roots block your way,
yet ancient arches beckon you through.

to another swathe of green, glorious green woodland.
The trees grow well here
They love the place as much as I do.

Do you?

Here you see the spoils of our day, a little offering for the autumn altar from the woodlands. All fallen waiting our visit.

Then I promised you socks for the Harvest Moon and here you have them.
Yarn is Harvest Moon hand dyed with koolaid by Vicky J for the hospice year of socks. Aren't they lovely?
The colour is a perfect match for the harvest moon, thank you Vicky I loved knitting these:)
Well a long journey but I hope you enjoyed it.