Lion

March has arrived: not so much like a lion, to tell the truth. Which is probably a good thing, lions being quite captivating from a distance but rather more worrying at close quarters. There has been some welcome sunshine over the last few days, which makes you hope we've seen the last of winter, though deep down you suspect we haven't. Which is maybe where the whole leonine thing comes from: perhaps when you least expect it, it pounces on you from nowhere. Out of a tree, say. (Do lions pounce from trees?)

Ignoring the risk of things falling out of trees on top of me, I went for a wander around the woods at Alderley yesterday, to make the most of the bright weather, just in case it doesn't hang around. Perhaps it is just me, but I find it is easy to get disoriented in a forest: after a while, all trees start to look the same. The path you thought was just behind you to your left has been mysteriously replaced by a shrub. There are strange rustlings. Half-glimpsed shapes scurry about the undergrowth. The sun, shining so brightly in the car park, is somehow feeble and cheerless above the foliage. Dusk sets in rapidly, despite it being the middle of the afternoon. Personally, I think it's something to do with the Edge itself: an unsettling sort of place, enshrouded in legend and mystery. Lions are probably the least of your worries.