YewRaining hard, wind blowing, trees shedding their load onto me as I walked down the path into the confines of a wood. What I came across has started to change my life. For as I found Yew, I noticed the colour of your bark was grey, not the rich dark red that it should be. As the quarry blasts limestone out of the Mendips & bakes it to turn it into lime, the dust fills the air & coats Yew with a caustic mantle of powered lime.
When Yew are slowly burning, Yew scream in agony & I hear Yew.
Here is an Ancient Yew Grove, dating back to a time before Arthur. The trees were pollarded to make bow staves at the time of Agincourt, some eight hundred years later. Now, they are fast dying, being choked & burned by Man's greed for bigger & better motorways.
How can I not feel empathy with Yew, when in a short space of time my eyes begin to smart & water, my nose & lungs start to feel the effect of the lime in the air & I taste the lime on my tongue. I have had 45 years of life on this Earth, but to