straight lines

From where I'm sitting on the boat, the hut is only a few miles over the hill as the Coastguard helicopter flies.
The walk I just took to the island down at the Basin reminded me of the absence here of the wilding quinces - grubbed up by British Waterways - that in years gone by I would pick and take back to make my rooms fragrant then turn into a preserve.

I had however collected seeds one season, and when they germinated, I'd planted these at the hut as the foundation of a jaggy deer-proof hedge. Last year gave us their first hedge fruits at the hut.

On the way between squalls round the wee island  - only accessible across the sea-lock - are some remaining straggly, contorted, aged, lichen-clad, unruly elders. On one of these I found my crop of the day - Judas ears. I filled my hat full of them.
They really do resemble the folds and fleshiness of ears. In China they are devoured: known as Mu-erh, they are used in many dishes; I'll dry these and use them as flavouring.

Though it's a straight line from here to the hut, if you care to draw such a thing, the linking is far more contorted and dependent on state of mind - wild goes to wild - as the trail of quince and mushroom links hut and boat today, so tomorrow the wild mind will find yet another meshing in that net of interpenetration - even only in another story of food.