A starry morning

15th December 2013

    An early start this morning, and the stars were out. Thrushes were singing in the gardens as I left the village and the darkness enveloped me. I decided to forego my head torch as the sky was so beautifully star-lit. Mars was high in the south, but I had to turn my back on him. And With Jupiter on my left shoulder and Cassiopeia and Polaris ahead, I used the familiar shapes of trees and country silhouetted against the sky to find my way to Hurst Wood. Tawny Owls hooted and screeched about me, but all else was silent; and startled birds: their wings whirred away from me, but without alarm calls. Through the pasture, the ground was uneven, but I had my pole to keep me upright and along the muddy tracks, the puddles reflected the sky. Even in the woods, as the trees were stripped bare, the guiding firmament was visible about me. Through the trees, I could see the old gamekeeper's cottage; it was was decorated with twinkling coloured lights for Christmas. I came to a great clearing where the Chestnut had been coppiced and only Jupiter and the brightest stars could be seen. The sky was brightening in the east, washing out the sky. A low mist had settled among the tree stumps and they protruded like islands in a soft sea.
    At the stables, the cock was crowing in the new day and the birds awoke. When finally leaving the trees, the blue above was clear. I sat at Doris's bench and watched the valley below become completely engulfed in mist as the Sun rose behind me. A Jenny Wren in the Damson hedge said good morning, and I asked how she was. She was very busy about the branches and searching for breakfast. I finished my tea and went down to Long Bottom Wood where the temperature dropped dramatically in the mist. On the little bridge at Basted Mill, I looked over the parapet to the river and a dozen Mallards flew along and under, quacking madly as they went, then out the other side. I collected a few Brambly apples which the Fieldfare had kindly left, as I went through the orchard; these will be for an apple crumble for Boxing Day. Up the hill to Yopps Green, the Sun burned through the mist, only to be smothered by cloud and I ate my soup on the bench by the Beech as the sky darkened with blue-grey.
   It would seem that December has knocked the final nail in Autumn's coffin. But things are just sleeping and in time, come Spring, Life will begin again.
    As I walked back into Hadlow, the prospect of Saturday's Yuletide pilgrimage to Coldrum was relished. But tomorrow, I meet my favourite cousin for a rare walk!