For everything a season. Tree planting time is here again. As I set off over the bridleway, the wind cut through me. Rain squalls rasped my face. Fallen leaves raced each other. Strange to be thinking of new life just when everything seems to be dying.As I dug the holes, my trowel rang like a bell as it struck different objects. Mostly it was just ordinary stones. Ordinary? How long had they lain in the silence here? Ten years, 20, 200, 2 million? I also excavated some fossils – relics of the Jurassic seas that once covered parts of this land. And then there was the red brick rubble I disinterred. Had there been a building here in the middle of nowhere? Even something as simple as digging a hole for a tree embroils you in mystery. At the woods I cut half a dozen willow whips. Planti