Woodland Trails

by Dave Dunn

Tuesday 11th August 2009 10:45 pm (first posted Tuesday 7th July 2009 1:04 pm)

So wandersome in the deep dark middle wood
Paws padding silently on the thick soft moss under foot
Ears turning to catch a slip-slithery sound
Both pricked higher at far off cry of hound

Survival on wits is the name of his game
Rust red in colour but steel sharp in brain
Harsh brambles arming the sides of the track
Tall ferns shielding his eyes from the fact
That under them lurks a rabbit so still
Though the scent isn't hidden from refined nasal skill

Seeming to ignore it he passes on by
But soon circles round to show him his eye
Transfixed in that stare, will the rabbit be lunch
Flattened to the ground in a pitiful hunch
If I spare you the details you surely won't mind
It's not for the squeamish, events of this kind

Licked chops later he was on the track once more
Trotting to the nearby stream with a thirst not to ignore
Sometimes he'd find a frog there, such a tasty snack
But a toad once made him froth in pain so that one he spat back
Cool clear water was soon trickling all over his toes
Tongue lapping greedily splashing droplets on his nose

Refreshed then he trotted on his stealthy way once more
Nose scanning every breath for hints of some tasty encore
Across the stream he caught sight of two squirrels playing chase
Grey almost lost to view as up a hornbeam trunk they raced
Strong musky smells drifting to him from the badgers latrine
The brocks would be venturing out by dusk, he'd better leave the scene

Amongst the darkening undergrowth were some berries fit to eat
He never ate too much of them as the seeds stuck in his teeth
A partridge started up ahead to distract him from these thoughts
He cocked an ear and listened hard for humans at their sports
With no odours or sound to bother him he took some steps aside
To sneak upon his feathered prey, their capture was his pride

But hark another bushy tail was soon seen ahead of him
Was it the new come vixen whose markers had lately been
Left on some logs around here where she had the cheek to try
And claim herself some territory he would teach her by and by
But no her smell was different from that he thought he knew
It had to be she was on heat and when she then came into view

Their eyes met for a moment before she turned to flee
Swiftly slipping through the ferns and down a hole below a tree
He noted where her holt was then re-tuned his mind once more
To capturing some supper a tasty gift it would make for sure
Crouched beneath a fallen birch trunk a glint of eye he caught
That must be the hiding place of the bird that he now sought

Some brambles grew the other side that would not aid escape
So he trod slow and quietly with beady eyes fixed and no mistake
The final yard was one swift dash and the gift was firm in mouth
Taking it back to the vixen was a short trot back due south
Courtships didn't always go the way he planned he was aware
But this time he was ready with a meal they both could share

And as grey dusk grew to penetrate the deep woods ever more
Back along the track away an old badger started to explore
Turning over leaf mould and searching there for tasty worms
A quick snack before wanderings to the clearing with the stones
Some treats had been left there in recent weeks by some tall men
Caution was strong in him as he snuffled on the ancient trail and then

He pushed under the wire of the boundary into the damp meadow grass
Crunching on a snail or two as he padded up to the sticky mass
Of peanuts and golden syrup that two legs had previously placed
With coloured plastic pellets mixed in so his territory they could trace
And duly he obliged them when he marked the stone he never went beyond
They'd be back again he knew that with this treat of which he was so fond

Back amongst the trees he found the stream to clean his fur and drink
The sweet stickiness soon just a memory as he stopped a while to think
Where was it that he used to dig up bulbs to chew for a change of taste
They were over on the western side of that pond some anglers called a lake
Following the trail his elders had trod for a thousand years or more
It was some thirty minutes before he reached the ponds near shore

Trotting steadily around it until the scent of flowers became strong
His broad claws excavated a dozen bulbs to crunch ere very long
A drink to wash the soil away and grooming then took some time
His ever ready hearing picked up distant foot steps on the lime
Path that people had laid from a car park to the far lake shore
He wasn't in a hurry still but neither was it wise for him to ignore

Trundling back towards denser wood amongst hawthorn trees and beech
He deviated slightly from the trail where some berries were in reach
A heavy load he carried now and a nap seemed to call him to the sett
His ears pricked at the vixen's call but he knew it posed no threat
A ghostly woosh overtook him on a clearing while on his way back
Just an owl swooping on a rodent he himself sometimes liked as a snack

Home was just ahead now and he circled round to test the air
No alarm bells were ringing in his head this night so he could spare
Some extra time to gather bedding to take into the deepest depths
Of tunnels intricately excavated through so many old tree rootlets
Back in the hide some twenty yards or more a couple packed away
Their notes for the research centre with their findings for the day

The woodland trail they took was one old brock would never tread
It wasn't one of the badgers ancient paths but quite openly it lead
Out into the stark edges of a busy town just two short miles away
Where a playing field with swings for children was busy every day
Some thickets of hawthorn and brambles were as effective as barbed wire
In keeping folk away from the ancients paths of which badgers never tire

(c)Rhumour
5th July 2009