Country diary: Life is hanging on at this heavenly crossroads | Paul Evans

The Marches, a border: In such a grim year for insects, there are at least soldier beetles and a delicate troop of mayflies to speak ofTo contemplate is to find a space for observation. To muse is to stand open-mouthed. Inspiration is an inward breath. From a footbridge looking downstream, the Afon Ceiriog hurries towards its destiny at waters-meet with the Dee. On a straightish reach at Pont-y-blew, water the colour of dark ale between the deep green corridor of alder trees is a border between Wales and England, Shropshire and Wrecsam. The bridge straddles the dotted line on territorial maps but the flow beneath has freed itself from division to become a 1:1 map of its own making, its own self.Around the river, other maps of land are being drawn by shadows from low sunlight. Time is as fluid as water here. Mounds, ridges and platforms in the grass speak of a hidden landscape. In the ancient flood meadows, tall ash trees, some touched by decline, some not, mark the edges of a lost road. Closer, things are more immediate. On the flowers of creeping thistle are little gatherings of soldier beetles, Cantharis cryptica, feeding on pollen and aphids, but really here for mating (soldiers of love not war). The cowpats in the grass are pockmarked with Aphodius dung beetle holes. Continue reading...