I walk across the field. The grass has been harvested for hay. Short spikey stems are left. In the middle of the field the bones of an old oak tree stand strong, but my tree is at the edge of woodland. The healthy ash is a cluster of green leaves. I sit down below and begin my meditation. I ask a question but do not wish for an immediate answer. I sit against the tree and listen to her language. This language has no words. The tree is older and more experienced than I. Birds twitter in her branches. Where would they be without her? I breathe deeply the smell of the earth. Dog walkers follow their usual circuit and diligently retrieve their droppings. While I remain with the tree my internal dialogue of questions and answers is suspended. I relax. At last I rise to leave. I ask myself for an answer. The answer is to continue as I am. One step at a time. I cycle back to my spot. It is wet and smells stagnant. I cannot sit down on the ground. The grass is green and lush. It is the twenty sixth of February and after lots of rain the new growth is starting. The crows cackle and the squirrels skip from tree to tree. Most of the trees are bare but a Hawthorn is blossoming. There are no dog walkers on this chilly morning. A cold breeze blows. I ask my question and let it drift away. All around this pocket of countryside is a thick border of trees. Many different birds are singing. A whistly one, a chirpy one. In the background the varied hum of traffic. Motorbikes, aeroplanes, cars and trucks. A crane is in position on a nearby industrial estate. Horsenden Hill is a forest rising up in the distance. I will not linger long on this cold day. I follow my cycle tracks back around the edge of the muddy field and wonder what is the answer to my question. Always the same. Keep on going. One step at a time. This place is called ‘Lower Thrifts’, a reference to what has grown on the land. Now it is a place for people to enjoy. A country park. Given half a chance a property developer would pay millions but this land is protected. Ancient bureaucratic laws have designated it to the public. A quiet faith hopes it will continue. This is not the bombastic will of the people crying for justice and reform. There is no placard to regale the great achievement. The spirit of the land endures outside of short human lives. An accelerated film would show people scurrying to and fro, the seasons coming and going while the tree remains unmoved. Our minds perceive and process information, calculate and conclude yet the great mystery, within and without our mortal coil remains….. unsolved….