A walk of two halves

26th January 2014

    Yesterday evening, there was a great storm: Thor was crashing and banging about and sending down splinters of brilliant light.
    As I walked out of the village at 6.45 this morning, at each lamp post, a Robin or a Blackbird sang in the yellow glow. Off the lane, into the wet pasture, there were lights at the sheds over on Park Farm, a kilometre away. Lambing time must be upon us. The sky was a little overcast, and looking east, with Geese flying over and Mr Buzzard crying, there was a blood orange gash low on the horizon. Then the sky softened; the backdrop was a scene from Gone with the Wind, or War Horse and I was the heroic silhouette. At Oxen Hoath, one of the Atlas Cedars had lost its top and a huge bough. The length laying across the path was twenty seven strides and the diameter, two strides. I clambered over. The north westerly was very cold and I considered changing my gloves for thicker ones, but into the trees at the top of the hill, the wind abated. A Woodpecker's drumming echoed through the wood. Near Crouch, looking down onto the Cobnut orchards, the trees were olive green, thick with catkins. The twitten through Crouch had been cleared of trees, but there was a lot of damage to garden fences. The countryside resembles a lumber-yard in places. As it is a little exposed at Doris's bench, I went on down to Long Bottom Wood, and at Basted Mill, I turned north, upstream beside the Bourne, to take breakfast out of the wind above the old mill pond where Mallards paddled and Coots dived.
    The rain started as I continued north to Borough Green, following the river until climbing the steep hill to the village. Not a particularly pretty place, it is a sprawling crossroads. From there, I walked down Crouch Lane, to return home via Crouch. Past the Chequers pub, on the West Peckham road, close to Winfield Farm, I turned east across a field, to enter Hurst Wood again at the stables. I had another cuppa under a large Beech and sat in the roots, like in an armchair, in the lee of the weather. There were a few drips, but I was out of the worst, and the birdsong kept me company.
    Through the wood, the rain wasn't so bad, protected by the coppice, but back out into the driving rain on Gover Hill, the wind had turned to south west and although a little warmer (not much), the rain was in my face. In the bottom pasture, a few hundred Herring Gulls had taken up residence and noisily occupied the place, enjoying the temporary pond in the field, displacing the Greylag Geese. They sounded quite put-out. My knees were a little damp, but the rain was kept at bay and my mud be-spattered legs took me home and warmth.