When I walked past last week this hedge was just a pile of brushwood. I stop and admire the skill of the hedge-layer, the confident cuts and twists, each branch supporting another, warp and weft of springy green wood. I wonder if the hedge-layer sees it as I do, a vibrant work of art, or if they are so critical of their craft that they are distracted by imperfections as I am when considering my own work.
"...The hedges of hawthorn yearn to become trees. They grow
with their young legs splayed. They sway with ripening buds.
A pleacher reaches for its root through its bark and sapwood
which is all in our cut and our angle and our taking of its toe.
Lie fallow there, poet, and you will grow young with the hedgerow."
from 'Hedge-layers' by David Morley