Windy Saturday

15 June 2013

   The Sun was blinding after the night's rain, and the ground damp. The Westerly was strong and very cool. In the bottom field at Oxen Hoath, a parliament of Rooks were discussing the day's agenda. And up in the parkland, a pastoral scene: Holsteins amongst the trees grazing or lazily chewing the cud. A family of Jackdaws in a great Cedar arguing among themselves near the big house.
   Under a roof of polythene, flapping and clattering, Loganberries are set. In the orchards, apples are embryonic swellings. From Gover Hill, the valley looked verdant and lush; the distant hills shrouded in mist. Hurst Wood was alive with bird song, little wind there; Wrens were calling, Blackbirds fluting and Pigeons clapping away, startled.  A woodsman was splitting Chestnut poles under a tarpaulin as I went through to the Walnut and Cobnut orchard where rabbits tolerated me for a while, and squirrels didn't. The cocks were crowing as usual at the stables. Well, I was early.
  Breakfast in the wind at Doris's bench chilled me and I left with coat and gloves on. The lambs in the bottom field were well grown, especially the boys; they walked with a swagger.
  On the long climb from Basted Mill to Scathes Wood, along the verges of the lanes and rides and paths, full and overgrown were Wood Forget-me-not, Yellow Archangel, White Dead-nettle and Herb-Robert. Where exposed, Queen Anne's Lace was now threadbare; rough treatment from the violent weather.
On the hill, at Paul's bench by the Holly, I sat for another break, and looked out over the valley where Buzzards wheeled and I remembered Raggedy Robin. A Dunnock visited me long enough to sing a cheery song, then went. And so did I, to Shipbourne.
The church clock struck eleven as I went through. Then across the green of long grasses, Buttercups, Clover and Oxeyes, and then through Dean Park Wood to Clearhedges. There, Dog Roses were just emerging; white and delicate blushing pink. But beware: there is danger behind the beautiful facade!