It was nobody’s fault, but here I am, lying on the damp floor of a wood, half a mile from the road. Drifting down with the falling leaves are the voices of two women, too easily accepting of blame. I reassure them and try to sit up, but the high singing in my ears turns to static, the edges of the wood begin to pixelate, and I lie down again before I faint.
Moments earlier, deep into Long Copse, Mum’s one-year-old labrador and my two-year-old collie crossbreed had met a young whippet. A case of the zoomies ensued, and as I turned to warn Mum, there was a sledgehammer blow to my lower leg as one, two or maybe all three dogs cannoned into me. Though I didn’t realise for two more days, my leg was broken before I hit the ground.
Because I think I’m tough as the old boots I have on, I keep trying to get up. But my body, with its low blood pressure trick, keeps putting me back down. I have some little sleeps, covered in a coat now, drifting, half-awake, wanting only the soft ground. I can smell pine and the sugar-beet mustiness of the sycamore leaves I’m lying on; their gold, mingled with butter‑yellow field maple, glows beyond my eyelids. I am remarkably at peace. Held. The voices of Mum and another kind woman from the village, who has brought a mug of sweet tea through the wood, are comforting.
A dragonfly lands on me at eye level, a smoked-glass common darter. Her cellophane wings crackle and my leg responds with searing pain. Beside me, a centipede rocks the rollercoaster of its amber body, back and forth over the curved veins of leaves. And then, high in the conifers, I hear a flock of pine-scented crossbills, chip chip chyop among trills. I could be dreaming, but I heard them here the week before. It feels wrong to point them out now, birdwatching while these three concerned women wait. I close my eyes, and keep their secret.
I refuse an ambulance, even though my husband is a paramedic, but it is he who comes in the end. So I hobble and hop the long trek back to the road, thoughts of red and green crossbills Christmassing in my head.
• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
