In Pursuit of Spring
"Would you lean your back
against me cutter?
Would you rest your axe
a while and sleep?
Listen to the song I utter
Her my heartwood weep."
- Heartwood, from The Lost Words, Spell Songs.
Today, I walked under changeful northern skies to see something that isn’t there. When I asked somebody the way to Sycamore Gap, they replied, “Do you mean Syca - no-more Gap?” - the correction itself carrying the weight of recent history.
For those who don’t know, Sycamore Gap sits along the escarpment that carries Hadrian’s Wall - and in the dip between its rolling shoulders stood a single sycamore tree that became one of the most photographed and visited spots in the country. In September 2023, that tree was cut down overnight in an act of vandalism that shocked the nation.
Within a wall built as an assertion of dominion and control, a sycamore seed found soil in the crease of the land and rose beside the line of stone, right at the heart of the dip. It was never the oldest tree, nor the rarest, nor botanically extraordinary - but what it became was something else entirely.
The shock that travelled across the country when the tree was felled told us something. The reaction was not simply about timber. It was about a rupture in something shared.
It was the notions we attached to that dynamic that were brought so sharply into perspective. For before that - its meaning was something that hid beneath the reality of our everyday existence - we were just drawn to the idea of it, the visual beauty of it - but didn’t quite know why.
As with most things that we suddenly lose, the presence of absence shapes the thing that is absent more acutely for us. It clarifies the ambiguities, articulates the vapour, the vague feelings that flow deeply within us.
We do not always know why certain things speak to us, but they do silent work on our behalf. They hold our values in visual form.
And, in the aftershock of loss - the lens sharply focused on the why, what and how of it all - I realised that the Sycamore Gap was never just about a tree. It was more about a composition.
The gap mattered as much as the sycamore. We were drawn to the symmetry of it - the horizontal line of empire, the vertical line of life. The tree spoke of the natural order of things, of a candle in the dark, of David and Goliath - it awoke the humanity in us: resilience without spectacle and the capacity to occupy a space without needing to control it. It also spoke of the human ability to recognise balance and to honour the peace of wild things.
Perhaps that is why its destruction felt so jarring in an age already thick with domination, asymmetry, misinformation and certainty. Its loss amplified the lack of agency and control that we feel. It was an assault not simply on the tree, but on a shared metaphor. When we lose contact with nature - when we rise too far above ourselves and believe we control the narrative entirely - something vital erodes.
But the story is not over - for like an eternal well, the human spirit keeps searching for hope and meaning - and that search has now been re-centred upon the stump itself. For within the harshest of environments, after succumbing to the basest of human intent, new shoots are growing.
And that means the world to me - because in a time when the horizontal lines of power can feel overwhelming, the vertical line of life is rising again in the very gap that first taught us how to see it.
Weather: 6.5 degrees celsius. Overcast
Observations: Saw and heard a skylark over Hadrian's Wall, as well as a rook with a twig in its mouth.
Total Miles Travelled: 825
"That aura, those echoes-the muted light is transporting. What a space to feel rooted in history. I'd love to make that journey myself; you've stirred the opera lover and architectural dreamer in me."
@sonatasips via X
"In reading & seeing Andy's work I always struggle to know which is more impactful - his writing or photos. In truth, the two combined are greater than their parts, he allows you to explore the importance of place and time from the comfort of home."
Peter from Bluesky
This work is sustained by a small group of tier members who value time, care, and continuity. If that resonates, there’s a more immersive path you can step onto. Become a Tier Member:
Andy Marshall
Connect with me on:
Bluesky / Instagram /Facebook /X / Tumblr / Flickr / Vimeo / Pixelfed / Pinterest
Member discussion