At some point this winter the old ash pollard leaned into the next phase of its life as a refuge for all the things that have contributed to its end. A seedling elder in the crown deposited by birds, brambles between its knuckled roots and, of several mycological inhabitants, a matt black fungus exuding from its cracks and fissures.  

Pollarding the ash was one of the things that the farmer here did in his last and seventy fourth year. It was the year before we moved to Hillside and took over the custodianship of the land and in our first year here the ash put out hesitant regrowth that indicated that the tree was in retreat. It stood quietly alone and monumental on the flank of The Tump to mark the handover. A figure, an enormous timber torso we named Venus, which surveyed the open grounds in each direction.