For exotic looks, nothing beats the native spindle

Ladle Hill, Hampshire The spindles are brave impressionist paintings among the ash and crab appleIn an almost silent late afternoon I have descended steeply through the thickly wooded path on a spur of the downs. The only sound is that of a blackbird. It has chosen, as is its habit, the very best notes in the very finest order to punctuate just such a dark autumn afternoon. It is indeed as if, as Edward Thomas wrote in The South Country, it “gathers up all the low-lit beauty into one carol