An awkward crunch as I lie on my belly like a beached walrus. Shards of dry leaf become embedded in my fore-arms and legs. A few ants amongst them let me know they don't like having their world carelessly crushed by such smothering bulk.
The need for a slight change in angle for a better background makes me feel so cumbersome. A beached walrus humping around trying to take a photograph. I know I do not belong down here but that's what makes it so revealing.
A different view of the garden and of myself. Even approaching sixty I thought I was quite nimble until I tried to enter their world and the word "lumbering" came into mind. But exactly whose world is it? Spoiler alert: we don't find out today.
I return to the kneeling squat with an arched back, making use of the tiltable screen to see the ground-level worlds. A sensible compromise, accepting that the impracticalities of actually getting my eye to that level detracts from the feelings that the views evoke. Let the technology be my artificial eye.
That dark cave, I imagine it's threatening to a creature of light but sanctuary to its prey or ambush hole for its predator. A place to hide whatever you are. Pushing a finger inside would be too intrusive plus I am a little cowardly. In this case I will look more than feel.
The rigid curves of dried leaves stacked together creating a maze of spaces. My only way to really explore these voids would be to destroy them so I'll make do with the skimming surface view and the hints of tunnels heading below.
Wrinkles of age in a leaf just a few months old. The tree itself sucked the life out of it to leave a dry husk that crackles to pieces between my fingers. It feels destructive but is just speeding up the inevitable. Squeezing these hyper-dry leaves in my hand is actually quite enjoyable and slightly addictive, like popping bubble-wrap.
This world is so fragile. It's not just me with my heavy step of destruction and love of crunch but even a breeze can bring turmoil as leaves tumble away to reform new temporarily-stable complexes. Whoever lives here must be able to deal with this ephemeral structure. Once down to a certain size there wouldn't be much point learning your territory as it forever changes.
Even in these moistureless months some dishevelled plant-life dances up through the stacks of dry leaves. Perhaps the morning's dew is enough encouragement for it to try its luck but even that is becoming less and less each day.
I love this new angle on my garden and can't stop taking more photos. It's mainly the aesthetic appeal with its endless possibilities but it does also drag me down to a new level of appreciation. A different angle on the very familiar. My search for the visually appealing has brought me right into the mini-habitat of leaf-litter.
But what is missing here? The dwellers, obviously. I know they are there, although perhaps not so active in this period's dryness and brightness. I imagine the rainy season will be different and I feel impatient for the next three months to run quickly. Then there will be less crunch, more earthy aroma and, I imagine, more scuttle.
In the meantime I should come looking after the sun sets. The thought of rolling with the leaves after-dark in this land of snakes and venomous centipedes gets my heart pumping a little. And I would need to bring my own light which will be an extreme intrusion on the world I want to peer into.
This idea of having to wait for the illuminating sun to disappear makes it feel like the creatures just do not want me here and I should be content with these photographs of their beautiful leafy world, full of magic and mystery. In some ways it might be better to leave the picture of what lives down here to the imagination.
