A cold wind across the valley

9th February 2014

    It often rains in England, but this is silly!
    The birdsong could only be heard when the wind abated a little. A grey blanket covered the sky, and the day came slowly and the rain stopped. There were no geese in the pasture at Oxen Hoath and the strong south west wind carried me uphill through the mire, into Hurst Wood, and Njord blustered and whined in the the tree tops. Here, the faux springtime birdsong rang through the coppice. I walked north east until, out into the wind again, I came to Offham; an old Saxon village built in ragstone with the Roman road running through it. There is a quintain on the village green, and if I were mounted on a great steed, I may have charged! Breakfast, of butternut squash, sweet potato and red chilli soup, was in a stone bus-shelter to keep from the wind. Although the temperature was 6C, it felt much cooler and my hands chilled, in spite of the soup.
    I made my way west after breakfast, for Platt Wood, buffeted by the wind, past the King's Arms, through a fruit farm (following deer prints) and, across the road, the busy Wrotham Heath Golf Course. The way through was badly marked and I spent some time looking for the path on the far side and was directed by a kindly golfer. The Sun appeared from time to time and little patches of pale blue raised the spirits. It was quiet in Platt Wood and I warmed up before emerging at Pigeons Green (Snow Drops aplenty along the verge here). Then I was back into Hurst on the west side, walking down the Wealdway and out of the wind again. I stopped for some tea where the coppice had been cut. Bluebells were emerging; little green fingers probing the light. The Sun was directly ahead of me now; blinding and brilliant. The track-way south was muddy and boggy and very hard work and my back was hurting. Further south, the track is better-kept and the going was easier. Families were out walking and greeted me, saying, 'lovely morning'!
    Walking into the wind, still strong and cold, out onto the pasture at Oxen Hoath, I eschewed the thought of stopping at Joan's bench for tea, and struggled on home, scattering Herring Gulls which had settled on the flood.
    Then, took a couple of pills, and put my feet up to watch the Winter Olympics!