Shingles

7th April 2013

I left at 6.15am under a blue sky and a magenta glow in the East. It was very cold at around minus 6C. The garden birds were singing songs of promise. And as I went into the parkland the Sun rose through the trees. What a glorious and welcome sight!

The ground underfoot was hard and the grass fringed with frost. The going was much easier without so much mud. At the big house there was a great cacophony at the Rookery: squawking and croaking and what a carry-on! Above Oxen Hoath, the Mistletoe is still prominent on the Lime trees. I took a quick look back across the valley and went into the woods. It was so peaceful! I am happiest amongst the trees. I wonder why, is it because I spent my childhood in the woods at Kilndown; is it some ancestral thing, or is it something psychological: as if I need to hide away?

I stopped for a snack at Doris's bench and ate Moroccan olives with coffee to drink and lambs with black faces for company. Down in the bottom field, there were eight Suffolk rams. The daddies of the lambs in the top field no doubt. Big fellows, in every way!

There are still plenty of Fieldfare about, they don't seem to be in any hurry to go back home.

I picked some Ransoms by the River Bourne. It was still chilly, but the long climb up to Scathes Wood warmed me. Woodpeckers drummed all about. I sat at Paul's bench and Raggedy Robin visited and warned me off. So I gave him some bread, he said 'thank you' and he grasped a twig above me and sang a very pretty song as I ate my soup. Raggedy Robin lives in the Holly bush nearby. He has white feathers about his head from some mishap or other. He has survived the winter well enough though. Will he get a wife? He is very ugly. I thanked him for the song, and left for Ightham Mote.

Beyond Shipbourne beside a road on a wide verge, is a new bench. It's not facing the road, it faces the hedgerow and Dean Park Woods. A very odd place to put a bench. It is dedicated to Joan and Frank Chapman. They must have been well loved. A pair of Buzzards circled overhead as I sat and wondered.

In the wood, I went across the public footpath, along a track that wends its way South. And then into Clearhedges. In the field below, two Skylarks sang frantically. 30 minutes later and I was home.

I felt very good, not at all tired. Was this the weather, or because I'm over an attack of Shingles?