Not So Spruce

On the same Sunday run though, as I ran up past the caravan and through this area of healthy, well maintained Pine forest, feet now crunching on snow; I found I was running alongside clear deer tracks - one set large, one small - and I followed the ghost of their presence for 1/2 kilometre or so until the road ended at a sunny elbow. The deer tracks climbed up the wood`s edge. I checked myself from trampling them and we came out together onto the higher road 2-300m beyond.
This was a logging road I`d discovered last week, a route lined and  oppressed by countless neglected Sitka spruce trees; crushed together, choking and dead-flanked.
On that previous run, fearful of the mood, I`d stopped and spoken (and stretched and breathed deeply). I`d told those suffocated trees that, if I was a woodsman, I`d fell many of them, creating spaces of light for those still standing so they could stretch and breath. And I`d make good use of the greenwood logs, some to season for burning or carving, some to turn into useful objects. 
It helped me; took away the constriction I`d felt, this talking to the trees...
I carried on running - gently sloping upwards through the tree factory until the tunnel suddenly opened out onto sunlight and big spaces: views to north and east, the Eildon hills landmarking Melrose. I ran along the high moorland road, through the light, chilly air, happy to have persevered, There at my shoulder was a buzzard (though I wished it was an osprey) flying 300m to my left, against the wind, effortlessly keeping pace before disappearing into the trees.
I stopped, though my path continued straight for a half mile or so towards...where ? eventually the Three Brethren ? One day I`ll find out