25/02/2026
Today at my sit spot, I found myself drawn again to the beech tree that has slipped slowly down the bank and into the burn. She leans now, stretched long over the water, almost as if reclining — but not in defeat. There is something hopeful in her posture, something quietly determined. The burn continues to flow around her roots and branches, and she continues to flow in her own way too. Neither has given up. Both have simply adapted.
Crossing the burn to look more closely at a beautiful polypore fungus, I noticed something else. A route I had long believed blocked by fallen trees is, in fact, open. I had assumed it was still closed. I hadn’t gone to check.
It made me think about the stories we carry forward without revisiting them. How easily an old perception can settle into certainty. And how a quiet pause, a willingness to step closer, to change angle, can reveal a path that was there all along.
The beech tree flows. The burn flows. And sometimes, when we slow down enough to really look, so do we.
