After the storm

3rd November 2013

    I walked out to a blue sky before the sun rose. The wind was keen and felt cooler that it was. The Balsam Poplars had shed their leaves and balls of mistletoe, wedged there, like balloons, were exposed. The trees were in the grip of Autumn and the waning light. I disturbed cows laying on the footpath chewing the cud in the bottom field at Oxen Hoath (I said, sorry girls). The lonely sound of Rooks was all about be. Wispy clouds in the west turned magenta, then yellow as the Sun rose and cast my shadow long.
    There were Loganberries still, although not picked now. But the apples were all picked; just a few small ones left on the trees. The church in Shipbourne, across the valley, glowed in the Sunlight. Chestnuts were scattered along the path in Hurst Wood and I collected a few. Trees were down here and there, after last Monday's storm. Sometimes climbing over, sometimes through, to make my way. The Cob nuts over Crouch way had been picked but a few remained for the squirrels (and me). Some Damsons in the hedgerows at Crouch still hang invitingly; just a little ripe now, but good to taste. Then at Doris's bench, I stopped for a cup of tea in the Sun, with the wind chilling my hands.
    At Basted Mill, there were invitations remaining at every house to 'trick or treat'. Carved Pumpkins and scary decorations made a festive spectacle of All Hallows Eve in the hamlet (will they make Pumpkin soup and pie?). The Bourne was running slow and clear. I could see the riverbed through my reflection. In the Bramley orchard, three Apples from under the trees would make a crumble! The Fieldfare are not here yet, to peck at the fruit. At the orchard bottom, at the little wooden bridge over the brook, an Ash tree was down; a scramble through and I was on my way to Yopps Green. Looking down from the hill, at the highest point, the Bourne valley was ablaze with changing colour. I stopped for breakfast at Paul's bench in Scathes Wood. Here, out of the wind, fingers of warm Sunlight caressed me. Hot tomato soup with bread to dip, helped to warm me. A couple of morning walkers came down the path with a sausage dog (Dachshund). He wanted some soup, and was persistent; I told him that he would have a jippy belly. He ignored his owners, they called: Loki, Loki! And came to drag him off. He was well named!
    Past a quiet Ightham Mote, on up to Shipbourne, with Mr (or maybe Mrs) Buzzard, mewing overhead. St. Giles church was busy as I went through. I stopped at Joan and Frank Chapman's bench for another cuppa, facing Dean Park Wood in the Sun. It was warm and restful (there are benches dotted about all over the countryside. They are perfect for a rest and to prevent a wet arse).
    The warm and sunny weather brings out the walkers; I was not alone in the wood; sometimes I wish for bad weather. I continued south, out of Dene Park, on into Clearhedges Wood and met a lady there walking with her granddaughter. We exchanged pleasantries. She suggested that I should try walking over at Seal Chart - it is not so muddy, she said. I have been looking at the map of the area recently, so maybe next week! Through the fields to home, dark grey clouds were building in the south west and I arrived just before the rain.

    From the Greensand Ridge to Crowborough Hill,
    Over red-gold undulating country of time-fogotten misery,
    All hidden from tired eyes:
    The rights of a man were taken for profit.