It’s early morning and the sky is a billowing parachute of blue, bursting its seams with sunshine and the fluffiest white clouds. A cool wind blows up Loch Insh, roughening the water and bearing the scent of spring. From the island, a song thrush pours out all the trills, beeps and chirps of its bravura performance, oystercatchers pipe and a woodpecker hammers, the sound echoing around the hills.
In the forest, the birch trees carry no hint of leaves but are shaggy with moss and lichen, their twigs falling in soft fronds, wine-coloured and beaded. The trunks are irregular, pitched at wild angles, curving and bent, sometimes two or three growing from the same base. In contrast, the pale aspens grow up as straight as telephone poles, sharpening to a point at the top. All their branches rise in upturned spikes, bare but for the tiny ink strokes of twigs. At the centre of the woods is a stand of oaks, vast and spreading, last year’s dry leaves still spilling across the moss and the crushed bracken.
As we pause on a rise above the river, a sudden flash catches our eyes: a red squirrel is rippling along the branches below. In a leap from one to the next, it nearly misses, clutches and swings upside down, but in no time rights itself again and races on, a ribbon of copper fur making its soundless way up the bank. It clocks us and vanishes behind a thick trunk.
The ancient Caledonian forest is the perfect habitat for these woodland sprites, which are thriving so well in the Cairngorms national park that some are being relocated to other areas. The invasive greys are still held off south, fortunately, perhaps helped by the rise in pine martens here, who prefer them for food.
Suddenly the squirrel is directly above us, frothy tail up and sharp head down, claws gripping the bark as it impales us with a fierce stare. We laugh and it spirits away in a puff of red. On it flows, this lick of flame through the forest, not pausing to look, think or decide, but hurtling across branches, spindly twigs and open air like there is no difference. It disappears into the trees and we sit hushed, tended by birdsong and the glittering river.
• 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
