Adel Woods

Waking itself comes swiftly once Dook is up. Dragging myself out and through meanwood bottom I felt the call but though shamanic I was under no sacrament. Too many buried memories and I had no desire to waken the ghosts of the Meanwood Skins, a gang that rendered the area no go for me in my teens after dark. Longhairs were easy targets. Now it's undergone regeneration and it's only deeper in the darkness of these woods remains. As a boy Primley park woods were our safe haven for mushroom trips.
Abundant bird life greater spotted woodpeckers, nut hatches welcomed us in to the green. There are a supposed three green routes that lead to the city center but this one, meanwood/adel beck is my favourite. The sole obstacle occurs where the path takes dips and diversions, losing track of the beck till a cow tunnel, tubular and echoing feeds you out in to Adel woods. We kept low, enjoying memories, spit its and time loops till the seven arches bridge. Now closed off by metal we used to cycle across, now off bounds.
Details change but overall the lay out is the same. Heading for the underground air rade shelter where the deeds for the city were stored for the duration of the war. As boys we climbed in through broken holes into pitch darkness and two floors, a third deeper level water filled. Now a metal bolted gate prevents entry.
Turning back I found two huge rocks I had forgotten but once seen i recalled all handholds and considered climbing again to see if my initials were still carved in. Further back what remains of a stone spring, once pure drinking water, the babbling baby now lost to path logic and no longer spouting water.
Past the arches I walked up to the rocks where an early romantic episode of cored during a mushroom trip when I was 13. I climbed up and felt the magic still instilled in these mighty boulders.
Taking a higher path we found a tunnel that fed a stream and entered, vague jesse traces but nothing fresh. Back under the ring road we called out for jesse but he's not been here for some time.
Following the stream back in to meanwood, memories and magic.
I had crossed the site of Hillys bad trip. Close to a place where five us once sat tripping only to be surrounded by 20 odd yobs who stood threatening but let us pass. Perhaps sensing our pubescent shamanic powers. Thirty six years have passed since that trip. The yobs gone, the woods no longer eerie and dark. Perhaps I'll walk this nine mile nostalgia under sacrament before I go.
The water tower still needs investigation. One of the three signs. First, the holy thorn and Glastonbury Tor with our kid, the lad. Second, the eclipse under 1p-LSD, and finally the eruption of moortown water tower. The three signs that began this quest. Water tower needs my shamanic attention, soon.