This is the time of the wild rose, Foxglove, Bramble-blossom, Meadowsweet and Mallow. The cool morning gave way to the hot Sun. Butterflies were abroad: Tortoiseshell, Red Admiral and Meadow Brown. Damsel flies settled. And sheep were taking the shade.
The woodland walk hid the Sun's heat but the paths were overgrown with Stinging Nettles and Brambles and tall grasses. The nettle hairs found their way through my trousers and thorns tore at my arms. It was an adventure of epic proportions!
Poppies dotted the crops in the fields with blood-red and on this 70th anniversary weekend of D-day, I remembered my uncle Peter who died near Caen, Normandy, in a fierce battle on the 20th June 1944. My father's beloved brother gave his life for me and us all.
Swallows and Skylarks busied themselves above Doris' bench and the green valley shone below. Later, on the other side of the valley, a sprinkler at the plant nursery cooled me and, refreshed, I continued to Ivy Hatch and took tea at Ightham Mote where walkers with yapping dogs parked and embarked wearing wellies and T-shirts.
Across Fairlawne land, at the avenue of limes, two girls on horses came through the gate two hundred metres away. They started at a gallop and went by me at a furious pace, shouting, good morning! And whooooo! And I wished it was me. I remember so well.
A cup of fruit tea under the shade of Silver Birch by a silver stream on a hot afternoon is to be recommended. No one will disturb, you are alone and all is peaceful. And the Buzzard call was distant.
The relentless heat bore bore down as I walked through the burgeoning wheat home and I was thankful of plenty of water and a cool shower awaited.
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