There is a place in the woodland where the river meets the holly trees. The water forms a protective arc as those ancient trees form what we kids called a fairy ring... and we still do. There's something magical about it. In the middle of it all is an old beech tree, gnarled by the years with heaven bound limbs that dance in the air. Underfoot is nature's compost, the leaves never swept but giving their nutrients to feed the soil, the roots, the canopy above. And always there is the sound of the river, the laughing water.