I woke at 12.30am and Altair was sparkling through the bedroom window. The Universe is so beautiful.
It was already warm when I left with Poppy Dog at 6.30am. Poppy Dog very conveniently, did her business under the poo-bin, on the way out of the village. The Sun was sending shafts of misty light through the thin cloud, onto the green fields of Oxen Hoath. Around thirty Greylag geese were resting in the bottom field as we walked by. Poppy didn't see them; she was only concerned with rushing to the kissing gate. And then squeezed under it, as she wouldn't wait. There were no cattle in the lower field, so Poppy stayed off the lead, until we reached the parkland proper. The Walnut trees showed some fruit. Hopefully, the squirrels would leave some for me!
At the orchards, under the polythene, Loganberries were ripe and tasty. Such a breakfast I have been longing for, all year! I filled a container with water from the water-butt in the apple orchard, for Poppy Dog, and she drank the lot.
It was with relief that we entered the wood at Gover Hill onto the Weald Way. The valley below, from where we came, was misty: a light, ethereal green; an enchanted valley. Through Hurst Wood, A bright green dragonfly sought me out and encircled me. Blue-green, with delicate wings, it stayed with me for a short while, until we left the path to enter the Chestnut woods, which were sprouting their wiggly flowers. The footpath was bordered with Foxglove, Red Campion, red Woundwort and Enchanter's-nightshade, with their delicate white flowers. As the Chestnut had been coppiced here, the flowers could thrive. The Walnut and Cobnut orchards are showing their fruits; the Cobnuts did not look so promising. Breakfast was on Doris's bench in the hot Sun. Poppy Dog had a drink from the water trough there. The Rapeseed across the valley was set and there was just a little colour left. I had a drink and a rest but Poppy Dog wanted to get going and grumbled until we did.
We joined the River Bourne at Basted Mill. The Indian Balsam had been cut back but was making a come-back. It was cooler there by the river under the trees. At the mill ruin, there is a small sandy beach where Poppy Dog paddled and drank.
We went into the Brambly orchard where the apples were swelling, and Poppy lost me. I whistled as best I could with lack of practice, and a broken tooth. She ran up and down the rows until finally, she saw me at the bottom of the orchard. She was happy to see me, she said: oh, there you are!
I re-filled Poppy Dog's water bottle in the brook by the little bridge and the Sweet Briar under the shade and we carried on, up to Yopps Green and Scathes Wood and our second break at Raggedy Robin's bench.
Then we went through Ightham Mote and on to Shipbourne, past the church while people were leaving their prayer and Poppy had another drink on the Green. The meadow leaving the Green was a sea of pink with tall Rough Meadow Grass, fluffy; waving in the breeze. We went into Dene Park Wood and the relative cool under the trees. Another drink was taken there at the small brook. Near the car park we met a dog of the type which one knows is nasty just to look at it: black and grey, snarling and teeth bared. It attacked Poppy Dog and I put myself between the dogs. The woman said sorry, but didn't mean it. She looked like her dog.
We had another drink, the last, in Clearhedges Wood. Then we were out - into the blazing, relentless heat, through the wheat and bean fields, until we reached home. Then Poppy dog collapsed onto the cool tiled floor. And I had a shower. Oh, Sól!
Poppy Dog and I are good friends.
In the Sunlit wooded glades and rides,
Where Speckled and Meadow Browns have danced,
The lordly White Admiral commands the light
And wonder is brought to this fair place.
No comments:
Post a Comment