September sleep in the bed, and October - the bed in wood sorrel.

A sunny day, and the wood is green-carpeted with wood sorrel and speckled with bird song.  The wind is soft, and the tree trunks are also remarkably green.

Lying on the bed, it is difficult to remember the frost and snow of last spring.  The crows and ravens must be the same - their voices are above and beyond.  The flocks of long-tailed tits - if that's what they are - are playing amongst the trees. Sunshine plays with shapes that shake and flicker in the corner of my eyes.

I slept two nights on my own.  I was nervous - of what? - but had To Do It.  It was surprisingly peaceful - so very peaceful, to have the wood to myself and a few owls.  Hardly any wind, its breathe just reaching my face within my huddle of sleeping bag.  I slept lightly the first night, waking often, each time at peace with the hush and calm of a night where each creature is asleep, or hushed and calm so as not to disturb another if it is awake and busy.
The second night I slept more deeply.  I awoke once to a bright sky and a huge bright star shining on my face, until I realised that it was the waning moon creeping from around the trunk of a tree.  The sky was so clear compared to the darkness beneath the trees.  Their silhouettes were like giant bottle brushes, waving slightly, in the upturned sink of the sky.  I awoke again with the birds.