There was a perfectly clear sky this morning; Venus was bright in the paling morning and Máni was in the west, his face was full and reflected his sister's light.
The car's windscreen took five minutes to scrape clear of frost and then I drove to Ightham Mote along icy and flooded roads. The Elizabethan façade and the pale blue sky was reflected flawlessly in the moat. There was not a ripple. As I climbed the Greensand Ridge, the Sun rose, that wonderful orange sphere, as the Moon set behind the Ridge. Looking down to the valley, Hadlow Tower rose mysteriously from the mist and the tree tops floated on the soft sea. The fields and pasture were frosted white and a Skylark sang to the Sun. Into the wood, Woodpeckers drummed. Across the path lay fallen trees; Oaks, no longer majestic, Birch and a sorry looking Damson, victims of the storms last week. They were climbed over and under. Into Knole Park, I found a suitable log in the Sun for tea and watched a pair of Fallow deer with antlers locked, one was a young fellow and he wouldn't give up without a real fight. He was whining like a baby, and the horns clattered all the while. A group of five or six stags watched with bored expressions.
I went on through the park, past Knole House. First built between 1456 and 1486 (on the site of an original house), it grew over the years to 365 rooms. After a chequered history, it came into the possession of the Sackvilles in 1566, to whom it still belongs, although it is managed by the National Trust. Then on, under the Chestnuts, where the Rose Ringed Parakeets roost and the Oaks where Jackdaws rooted around for acorns. The park is popular with joggers clad in tight lycra and people taking a Sunday morning constitutional. I came out of the park in the north east corner and to the north, the Downs were bathed in morning sunlight. The path took me down to Godden Green and I stopped for tea there, opposite the Bucks Head Inn. The aroma of eggs and bacon wafted over to me. But I had my soup!
I turned south east from there for Bitchet Green, down the ancient track and on up through the large flooded pasture to a stile blocked by a fallen Birch. It was a struggle to weave my way through the branches, but it was necessary, because the way round was two kilometres back. Then up the steep hill through Bitchet Green, took me to Broadhoath Wood and Wilmot Hill. There is a bench there, under a Beech facing south. I stopped for tea(!) and soaked up the Sun. Blue Tits flitted among the branches and spoke, zeet-zeet, busily above me.
Then it was all downhill back to Ightham Mote, following a brook in the woods, past the restored Hopper Huts, to the Mote. And the Sun shone!
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