It was a dim, dull, cold morning. The sheep alongside Carpenters Lane were laying down and refused to answer when I greeted them. Into Oxen Hoath, a flock of Herring Gulls took off and circled, then landed where the were. Hundreds of Rooks were flying west, in the half-light, over to Clearhedges, and croaking noisily as they went. Above the big house, a Blackbird sang from atop an Oak; so beautiful, with such tone and range. A song to arrest you; to make you stand and listen. And unexpected in November.
In the orchards, a few rows of young apple trees had been uprooted, all the irrigation pipes coiled and posts stacked. Another crop is planned for this field. From Gover Hill, the valley was misted and the horizon shrouded. In Hurst Wood, Blackbirds gave warning alarms, which has that particular autumnal sound; the resonance so familiar, of mornings and evenings in the low light and chill. The leaves are dropping and sound carries now. Chestnuts were still abundant, and squirrels had been busy, leaving empty casings. Daylight crept up on me, but brought no warmth, so a cup of hot Jasmine tea on Doris's bench was welcome.
Long Bottom Wood was golden and inviting and under an Ash, Shaggy Parasol mushrooms grew, but too small for picking; the bigger, the better for taste. Following the River Bourne, all was silent and I was left with my thoughts until the water rush at the old Winfield Mill ruins woke me. At the bottom of Brambly orchard, the tree blocking the way to the bridge over the brook had be sawn and stacked. A new home for insects and bugs. Up past Brookside Farm, the ivy flower on the wind-break was bereft of bees; much too chilly for them to work, but not for me! Yopps Green was quiet and I went up to Scathes Wood for breakfast, the climb making me puff. I stopped at Paul's bench (sawn from a fallen Oak and a deeply carved seat). Hot pumpkin and bacon soup, with fresh bread, with a ruddy view over to Fatting Pen.
Ightham Mote was just opening as I went through, and the walk to Shipbourne was a little busier with walkers. St. Giles church was quiet, although the Chaser pub next door was busy. I went on across the Green into Dene Park Wood. I felt a desperate urge, but dog walkers kept appearing as I was trying to pee! I went off the path and used my compass to take a different route to Clearhedges. I stopped and sat on a log for a final cuppa and was greeted by three young men, (good morning, they said) with red and green painted faces, wearing white sheets and carrying a tripod and camera. They stopped at a pond and were filming scenes as I watched through the trees.
A light rain started as I went through Clearhedges Wood, so up went my hood for the last leg home to Monypenny.
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