There's a little patch of beech woods I've been visiting about once a week since about March this year. When I first went, the trees were bare and bleak, black silhouettes against a clouded sky. I've seen the first leaves appear, bright zinging green, seen them sway in the wind and shade me from the summer sun. I've been there in the rain, in the sunshine, on cloudy days. I've sat and been miserable there and been just about OK and been happy and been barely holding it together. I've drawn what I can see. I've drawn what I can't see. I've drawn how I feel. Now the trees are covered in dark green leaves, but I can see them beginning to turn yellow and brown. I'm looking forward to watching the autumn colours sweep across the trees. Already, there are blackberries on the brambles and beech masts crunching underfoot. There are brown speckled butterflies and huge snails climbing slender twigs and squirrels doing acrobatics. Once I stood under a tree and watched and listened to a blackbird singing on the topmost branch.
It's my place to be. Just be, breathe, watch, wait, listen.