From Foulshaw Moss to White Scar and Whitbarrow Over the wobbly wooden bridge we go, up to the high platform to look down across Foulshaw Moss toward White Scar and Whitbarrow. In the foreground there's a pool of open water, with seed-heads of bullrush. Then birch carr, downy birch in the peat of the moss. Slender silver wands reach up through a blaze of bog myrtle, twigs and catkins a haze of rich ruby. A frosty morning quickly grows warm in bright sunlight, illuminating the weave of plants in the moss, enriching colour. The Burning Bush was bog myrtle, my friend exclaims, fragrant and ablaze.
From up on Scout Scar I can make-out Foulshaw Moss, an expanse of gold from winter grasses. From the board-walk through the moss, we're seeking bog myrtle in a tangle of seeding heather with strands of cross-leaved heath and the bright green of sphagnum moss. A foil of gold for the rich ruby stems of bog myrtle with glossy tight catkins, the first of them bursting into flower.
Approaching the tower, shrubs of bog myrtle grow taller through birch carr. The sun catches the seed-heads of bullrush on the fringe of the pool.
The Burning Bush spectacular is a dense mass of tall shrubs of bog myrtle, deep red twigs, glossy ruby catkins with some beginning to open. Incense, a light and purifying fragrance when you crush a catkin in your fingers. This is the time to seek bog myrtle. Once the catkins have flowered and the leaf-buds open the shrub appears in its summer green. Catkins and all tree flowers are wonderful because they adorn bare branches at the transition of winter into spring.
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