The Mists of Avalon – To The Trees Edition #68

As I begin writing this newsletter, the harvest moon makes a thin sliver in the dusk sky, like a tiny slit in the firmament through which the sun’s light seeps into the night. The dark sets upon us quicker now. The Equilux, when light and dark are equal, has passed. The sun rose at seven in the morning and set at seven in the evening on Wednesday 24th September, a day’s light perfectly split, and a moment distinct from that of the Equinox itself.

This month has been marked by days of fine weather, providing opportunities for adventures in mist and some early autumnal tree art. Term time has begun again, so we’re back at the field, scything, picking apples, pollarding willows, and preparing stacks of logs and faggots of kindling for open fires, in readiness for winter.

In the copse, the floor starts to cushion underfoot with freshly fallen leaves that create mosaics, unique in their colour and form depending upon which tree one is currently passing beneath. The contrast between the mulched leaves of last year’s fall and the placement of fresh falling pear leaves upon its top, circular and in bright red, yellow, and multicolours, is a sight to behold: autumn’s first artwork, burning in fire upon the browned floor.

This mutable month has given rise to many beautiful mornings. The famed mists of Avalon arise more readily during this season when winter’s approach clashes with summer’s remains.

Over this last week or so, I have twice leapt out of bed to a window-framed work of splendour: a golden, misty sunrise with the Tor ghostly in pink beyond the dense swathes, and the blue sky crowning it all. It is one of the finest sights to which a human can bear witness and one that fills me with such joy and anticipation.

I wasted little time grabbing the keys to my noble steed, Avalon Ron, the trusty ’90s Fiesta, and heading out to pass through the mists onto the Isle of Avalon. I went to Wearyall first, but the view was walled by the drifting white. For moments I could make out just a hint of the Tor, while the sun’s light was shielded so that one could look directly at its disc. Of the surrounding landscape, only Wearyall’s narrow path and lining trees were visible. Passing over the hill felt like riding on the ridged hump of a dragon’s back as the colossal beast drifted languorously through the clouds.

I hopped back aboard my noble steed to make the quick journey from Wearyall to Stone Down Lane. Somewhere around the old Abbey Barn, the mist ended, and all over the hills of Avalon was a clear blue sky.

Cocooned in the lanes, one would not know that such a phenomenon was occurring around the banks of the isle. Not until reaching the base of the Tor, near Avalon Orchard, is the ocean revealed. The landscape that was once there, all that green and gold, is replaced by a smooth white surface, so astounding in its consistency that one is tricked into believing they could step out onto the roof of the mist and walk across its perfect surface.

Around the island’s coast, where the mist meets land, it drifts up the banked shores, spiralling and turning as it merges with the clear, warming air to evaporate in wisps over the hills. Here, the trees appear dark and looming in the shallowing edges, like arboreal apparitions anchored sub-surface.

When the mist is at this level, the hills of Glastonbury appear as near to the ancient Isle of Avalon as a modern human may ever lay their eyes upon. It lines the coast of our sanctuary, creeping into the bays and accentuating all that would lie above the waterline. The hills become the only thing for miles around, a constellation of green humps bobbing upon a misty dream.

What a pleasurable somersault of perception this vantage point provides. Up here all is well; there is nothing else. The world is literally hidden from view, while our sight at this elevated height, the privilege of the few who climb to witness it, is made crystal clear.

As the day sings blue and gold above our heads, the sleepy morning humans go about their business below the cloak, sans sunlight, unaware that such beauty lies so near. It is an otherworldly experience in so many dimensions, and a sight for which my soul longs. All the troubles and woes of man are put to rest. We are sheltered up here, above the mist.

As I end this newsletter, the full moon now grows to its fattest, a full circle of reflected sunlight dished up in the dead of night. We are now beset by high winds and stormy weather, which have blown down gustfulls of precious treasure from the lofty crowns. Unready leaves, ripening nuts and fruit, and lichen-encrusted twigs now gather in the gutters.

Wick Hollow is lined with all sorts of precious. The concoction of textures, the composition of bits and pieces, the perfect selection of complementary colours arranged so imperfectly yet so satisfyingly occurs by happenstance.

I often wonder if all the organising, moving, and arranging I take part in for beauty’s sake is a waste of time, as it’s clear that nature’s inclination, without interference, tends intuitively towards a natural beauty that cannot be improved upon by the conscious thought and fiddling of human fingers.

I leave you with those thoughts and this video of the mists. Until next time, we walk to the trees.

MW 6/10/25

UPCOMING TREE WALKS:

Upcoming public walks are listed below, a calendar of all 2025 walks can be viewed here.

Private walks are available to book at a date and time to suit you – Book.

Autumn Tree Walks

Oct:  Sun 5th  | Sat 11th | Wed 15th (Wells) | Sat 18th – Owl walk | Sun 26th

Claycorns – Pre Order

Claycorns are now available to pre order for Christmas. The usual styles are available, as well as the new colours above, these come as standard alter pieces, hung upon pendants, or on hand twisted lime twine bracelets. The collection is also available at Dandelion Dreamz and Dickett’s art supplies on Glastonbury High Street and Matt will have a little stall at the Frost Fayre at the end of November.

Contact Matt to pre-order and he will be in touch to confirm your desired Claycorns.

VISUAL DIARY