Mirkwood

A woodland at which I called in southern Scotland looked like something from a horror film. Instead of being lush, vernal and a fit place to host Squirrel Nutkins’ Magical Kingdom, it was dark, eery and oppressive-looking. I would not have been surprised if this is where Tolkien’s Shelob or Ungoliant spent their summer holidays, or where deranged serial killers lurked seeking lost tourists, or wicked witches awaited plump children. As well as being dingy and dead, a green slime appeared to coat the ground, as though it were bubbling up from some hellish spring.

On closer examination, it was a rather pleasant moss, the species of which I have been unable to identify. Up close, it was rather vital and fresh; from a distance, it added to the dark atmosphere of its surroundings.

Judging from afar often means we arrive at inaccurate and unhelpful conclusions; drawing close and alongside often helps us to see more clearly and form opinions more fairly.