The sun shines brightly today, but the wind is cold, and reminds me that the season we are in is still holding on to winter. I start my walk by crossing through into the sheep field behind the barns. The sheep are excited by the sound of the gate clicking shut and run over to me. They are expectant of food and disappointed, they turn away. Remembering their fear of me they trot off in all directions once my footsteps begin again.

I pass through the gate on the other side of the field into a long tunnel of hedgerow, towering above me on either side. It is full of last year's nests and the remains of hazel catkins. These have now shed their pollen and lie like confetti on the ground below my feet. I collect a few and put them in my pocket.

I am heading to my favourite place, ‘The Jungle’, a small intimate ‘secret garden’. Here lies the remains of time gone by, now a haven for secretive birds and flowers. Moss covers everything, Snowdrops still carpet the ground under hazel, where hundreds of cob nut shells litter the ground. Each with a tell-tale hole in its side where a mouse has feasted upon its contents the year before.

The narcissi are starting to appear one by one, and I can see celandine leaves showing promise of flowers to come. Above me the sky is blue and sprinkled with the white confetti of wild cherry plum blossom. I collect some moss, scraped up by bird life before me, along with some fallen hazel branches.

I cross though another gateway, careful to check its closure behind me, aware of the sheep ahead who would have such fun if allowed in this precious place. This field catches the wind and it stings at my face as I traverse its perimeter, leading me to Asylum Wood, a place of mature trees which have seen many a year passing under their tall boughs.

Following the path I am lead to a place where nature is being allowed to thrive. One of the re-wilding fields opens up in front of me, where the earth is healing itself over time to come. The colours of dock, aged wheat, thistle and grasses glow in the spring sunshine. A single muntjac turns its wary gaze to me, the sun gleaming off its terracotta coloured back. A flock of reed buntings are feeding, perching and soaring through the field, and skylarks can be heard somewhere above me in the fast expanse of blue overhead.

I collect the dried stems of last year's growth from the field along with a few stray wood pigeon feathers. I know the path ahead well now, and walk though the branches of Cragpit wood where celandine leaves carpet the ground and the trees are waiting, their buds formed and ready for spring.

I head back towards the barns, walking past an area where the memories of children’s joy hangs in the air, and into a place which people planted with all their hopes years ago. I have come full circle and greet the sheep on the other side of the field. Rooks graze amongst them now, rising up and back down again in case my presence needs to be considered.

The pond comes into view, I can hear a Moorhen call. A tiny nest from last year can be seen tucked into the brambles alongside the water. I have collected a few precious natural treasures on my walk, memories of time and place. I will create with these later in the studio, bringing them back to this place soon, where they belong.