15th June 2014
A hot day was expected but didn't materialise. It was overcast and a cool northerly kept the fleece firmly on my back. Dee and Maisie joined me and we left Kilndown along the Bedgebury lane past Prior's Heath, which was part of the old Combwell Abbey and then Priory, of Robert de Turneham in the 12th century, and into the grassy meadow where Maisie leapt onto a Pheasant which was rescued by Dee with much remonstration and he flew off minus several feathers. Then across to the Great Lake where we met some inquisitive calves, all waiting at the stile. Maisie thought they they may be good sport, but was under close control, and so was frustrated. She then licked a cow-pat. Bad dog! Through Bedgebury Forest and down the old droveway onto Bishops Lane, the wind was broken by the trees hedging the lane; just birdsong was heard, roses prettified the dullness and iron is no longer transported along this ancient way. From Hartley to Cranbrook, along the road, traffic dulled the pleasure, but breakfast at the War Memorial was peaceful, in spite of the earnest travellers.
The owners of Angley Wood welcome walkers, but all was quiet and we were alone through the woodland and we crossed over the Hartley road into the Glassenbury estate without meeting a soul. But the sky was brightening and butterflies were abroad. And by the streams, damselflies flitted and darted and ducks hurried onto ponds to escape Maisie. The footpath skirted Smugley Farm through barley and meadows and soft green shadows by the stream; and then up to Goudhurst for coffee and cake at Weekes the Baker, sitting in the high street on the hill in the Sun.
It was busy along the narrow lane to Finchcocks, with cars passing to and fro on their way to see the musical instruments on display there. The gardens have been restored to their original glory also (by an old friend of mine, Lynda Shepherd). We passed by along the footpath through the parkland and climbed the hill back to Kilndown for a final cuppa by the quarry pond and we watched the damsel flies settle about the lily pads and the fish jumping for flies. The Spotted Orchids were tall by the water's edge and the Yellow Flag Irises reflected the summer.
Wednesday, 18 June 2014
Wednesday, 11 June 2014
Wild Roses and Sun
8th June 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, 3 June 2014
June arrived pleasantly
1st June 2014
Pinch punch, it's the first of the month!
Dee, Maisie and myself set off from Ightham Mote under the Sun and took the steep route for Seal Chart. Dee, as usual, left me behind as I puffed and panted up the hill, but waited for me with Maisie at the top and we looked out back over the tree tops and the green horizon. It was cool under the trees, which slowed my sweat and when my breath was caught, we started down the deeply trodden ancient trackway through the Common, high on the ridge. On the woodland verge, delicate pale yellow flowers, Common Cow Wheat, not a delicate name, nodded their heads as we passed. We walked in our ancestors' footfall past St. Lawrence's Church and down to Oak Bank Hall and The Grove. Here we crossed the road onto the golf course and followed the path to Godden Green for breakfast on the green opposite 'The Stag' pub under the warm Sun.
In the wood at Godden Green, a Jay, such a beauty with blue wings, was being harassed by mother Blackbird who had a nest nearby, no doubt. And there was a clearing, with two large Beeches each end with the canopy creating a great hall and birdsong filled the space. From there we made our way to Knole Park; I was hoping to see new born fawns but we were probably a little early. We shall come back later in the month. Up in an Oak tree, Jackdaws were feeding their young in an old woodpecker's hole. There was a great chattering when mum appeared and shoved food inside. Out of the park and along the Greensand way, we stopped for another break on One Tree Hill overlooking the Weald. A family with young children walked by and the little boy said 'can we have our picnic now'? No, not yet, said dad. And on they went.
We followed on after them but parted at Willmot Hill to go into the Sun and down to Budds and into the cool woods there. It had clouded over a little when we came out the other end, so we didn't have to suffer the heat crossing the wheat fields to Shipbourne. Going over to Ightham Mote, the family were in a meadow having their picnic and we waved hello. Then on to the cafeteria for coffee, and home.
Pinch punch, it's the first of the month!
Dee, Maisie and myself set off from Ightham Mote under the Sun and took the steep route for Seal Chart. Dee, as usual, left me behind as I puffed and panted up the hill, but waited for me with Maisie at the top and we looked out back over the tree tops and the green horizon. It was cool under the trees, which slowed my sweat and when my breath was caught, we started down the deeply trodden ancient trackway through the Common, high on the ridge. On the woodland verge, delicate pale yellow flowers, Common Cow Wheat, not a delicate name, nodded their heads as we passed. We walked in our ancestors' footfall past St. Lawrence's Church and down to Oak Bank Hall and The Grove. Here we crossed the road onto the golf course and followed the path to Godden Green for breakfast on the green opposite 'The Stag' pub under the warm Sun.
In the wood at Godden Green, a Jay, such a beauty with blue wings, was being harassed by mother Blackbird who had a nest nearby, no doubt. And there was a clearing, with two large Beeches each end with the canopy creating a great hall and birdsong filled the space. From there we made our way to Knole Park; I was hoping to see new born fawns but we were probably a little early. We shall come back later in the month. Up in an Oak tree, Jackdaws were feeding their young in an old woodpecker's hole. There was a great chattering when mum appeared and shoved food inside. Out of the park and along the Greensand way, we stopped for another break on One Tree Hill overlooking the Weald. A family with young children walked by and the little boy said 'can we have our picnic now'? No, not yet, said dad. And on they went.
We followed on after them but parted at Willmot Hill to go into the Sun and down to Budds and into the cool woods there. It had clouded over a little when we came out the other end, so we didn't have to suffer the heat crossing the wheat fields to Shipbourne. Going over to Ightham Mote, the family were in a meadow having their picnic and we waved hello. Then on to the cafeteria for coffee, and home.
Friday, 30 May 2014
Spring Bank Holiday Monday
26th May 2014
I parked in Kilndown for a Spring Bank Holiday walk. On through the church-yard to Summerhill, Dog Roses and Elderflower proclaimed June. And at Rogers Rough, yellow Iris spilled over the ditches. Cuckoo spit dribbled from succulent stems on the high verges. My memories of the village are ingrained and when I visit, I am transported. I would walk to my maternal grandmother at Bedgebury Cross from Kilndown when five years old and remember the lane so well. Grandmother's house is still there, but extended now (and done well). Showers of rain went with me as I went from the Cross through the fields to the Great Lake where Grebes dived and ducks communed. Up at Three Chimneys Farm, the oast houses are now dwellings, but there is still a working farm, and the old house there still has three chimneys. Then into Bedgebury Forest to make my way to Forge Farm down the bridleway and along the disused railway to Hartley. The railway, which ran from Paddock Wood to Hawkhurst, closed in 1961. I remember travelling on the old 'Pull & Push' from Goudhurst Station to Hartley for 5d. and walking back to Kilndown Primary School as a treat before the line closed. There have been plans proposed to reopen the track bed for use by cyclists and walkers. But of course, wishing won't make it happen.
I came out from the trees at Hartley and made my way to the War Memorial at Cranbrook for breakfast. Although the road was a little busy, it was a pleasant rest on the bench by the memorial and the rain had stopped. From there, I went into Angley Wood on the High Weald Landscape Trail for Goudhurst. The wood was peaceful for a bank holiday and I met just one runner to greet; a lady working hard to climb the hill through the conifers. After crossing the Hartley-Goudhurst road, I followed the footpath onto the Glassenbury estate, which wends its way to Smugley Farm, then through pens of Pheasant chicks and ducklings. Pheasants and Mallards are driven to the guns all through the woods and fields there. St. Mary's Church on the hill at Goudhurst came into view just before Smugleys and gave something to aim for, which was a cheese pasty and cup of coffee at Weekes the bakers in the village and I sat on the pavement and watched the passers-by. Downhill to Crowbourne, past my paternal grandmother's old place, then through Finchcocks Park and uphill, back to Kilndown and tea by the Quarry. An idyllic spot, with pond, overhanging trees and reeds and lilies just opening and orchids on the bank.
But for these moments, life would be such a disappointment.
I parked in Kilndown for a Spring Bank Holiday walk. On through the church-yard to Summerhill, Dog Roses and Elderflower proclaimed June. And at Rogers Rough, yellow Iris spilled over the ditches. Cuckoo spit dribbled from succulent stems on the high verges. My memories of the village are ingrained and when I visit, I am transported. I would walk to my maternal grandmother at Bedgebury Cross from Kilndown when five years old and remember the lane so well. Grandmother's house is still there, but extended now (and done well). Showers of rain went with me as I went from the Cross through the fields to the Great Lake where Grebes dived and ducks communed. Up at Three Chimneys Farm, the oast houses are now dwellings, but there is still a working farm, and the old house there still has three chimneys. Then into Bedgebury Forest to make my way to Forge Farm down the bridleway and along the disused railway to Hartley. The railway, which ran from Paddock Wood to Hawkhurst, closed in 1961. I remember travelling on the old 'Pull & Push' from Goudhurst Station to Hartley for 5d. and walking back to Kilndown Primary School as a treat before the line closed. There have been plans proposed to reopen the track bed for use by cyclists and walkers. But of course, wishing won't make it happen.
I came out from the trees at Hartley and made my way to the War Memorial at Cranbrook for breakfast. Although the road was a little busy, it was a pleasant rest on the bench by the memorial and the rain had stopped. From there, I went into Angley Wood on the High Weald Landscape Trail for Goudhurst. The wood was peaceful for a bank holiday and I met just one runner to greet; a lady working hard to climb the hill through the conifers. After crossing the Hartley-Goudhurst road, I followed the footpath onto the Glassenbury estate, which wends its way to Smugley Farm, then through pens of Pheasant chicks and ducklings. Pheasants and Mallards are driven to the guns all through the woods and fields there. St. Mary's Church on the hill at Goudhurst came into view just before Smugleys and gave something to aim for, which was a cheese pasty and cup of coffee at Weekes the bakers in the village and I sat on the pavement and watched the passers-by. Downhill to Crowbourne, past my paternal grandmother's old place, then through Finchcocks Park and uphill, back to Kilndown and tea by the Quarry. An idyllic spot, with pond, overhanging trees and reeds and lilies just opening and orchids on the bank.
But for these moments, life would be such a disappointment.
Thursday, 22 May 2014
A hot one!
18th May 2014
It was a 5.30 start for Tonbridge and I left Hadlow going south with the Sun and Moon the only objects in the still blue sky. At Golden Green, a mist was settling and at the River Medway, thickening. At the old WWII machine gun posts (never used in anger) by the river, I turned west. The Medway was once a working river; barges and boats plying their trade all the way from the Thames estuary to the wharfs in Tonbridge. The quiet slow river of pleasure craft and barges and fishermen on the banks belies the its busy history. At the Harlake Bridge, there is a memorial plaque remembering the thirty Gypsy hop-pickers and children drowned when the bridge collapsed in 1853 during a flood.. And there is a monument in St. Mary's churchyard, Hadlow, where the victims are buried.
And I followed the ghosts along the footpath which hugs the riverbank and as the mist was burnt off, the sky and verdure was mirrored on the gentle water. Close to Porters Lock, a young Mute Swan and a white farmyard goose were grazing together at the bank and paddled away when I came, and the unlikely friends floated downstream, a little put out. Mayflower turning pink and Elderflower blossoming on the banks.
Just before the Town Lock, there was a half submerged boat; its cabin under water and looking sad and neglected. It was a victim of the winter floods I suppose, and in need of rescue. I walked past the new riverside apartments on Vale Road and arrived at Tonbridge Castle as the horn sounded for another group of cyclists leaving for the annual 100 mile ride for charity. I met Dee, who was manning (or womanning) the refreshment tent. She had arrived at 6am to set up beverages and the event was well under way. She poured me a coffee, gave me a biscuit, we had a short natter, and I went on my way. And 750 cyclists went on their way.
From the castle, I walked through Hildenborough, down through golden meadows of Buttercups and found the Hilden Brook. I sat by the tinkling stream for breakfast and listened to the birdsong.
The uphill route to Shipbourne took me along the peaceful flower-bordered lane through Coldharbour and Hoad Common and a rest in the bus shelter away from the hot Sun. Two female walkers asked if there were any pubs nearby. I directed them to The Kentish Rifleman at Dunks Green. As they marched off searching for beer, I drank green tea.
The homeward walk was cool enough in the woods, but through the deep emerald fields of wheat, it was burning hot!
It was a 5.30 start for Tonbridge and I left Hadlow going south with the Sun and Moon the only objects in the still blue sky. At Golden Green, a mist was settling and at the River Medway, thickening. At the old WWII machine gun posts (never used in anger) by the river, I turned west. The Medway was once a working river; barges and boats plying their trade all the way from the Thames estuary to the wharfs in Tonbridge. The quiet slow river of pleasure craft and barges and fishermen on the banks belies the its busy history. At the Harlake Bridge, there is a memorial plaque remembering the thirty Gypsy hop-pickers and children drowned when the bridge collapsed in 1853 during a flood.. And there is a monument in St. Mary's churchyard, Hadlow, where the victims are buried.
And I followed the ghosts along the footpath which hugs the riverbank and as the mist was burnt off, the sky and verdure was mirrored on the gentle water. Close to Porters Lock, a young Mute Swan and a white farmyard goose were grazing together at the bank and paddled away when I came, and the unlikely friends floated downstream, a little put out. Mayflower turning pink and Elderflower blossoming on the banks.
Just before the Town Lock, there was a half submerged boat; its cabin under water and looking sad and neglected. It was a victim of the winter floods I suppose, and in need of rescue. I walked past the new riverside apartments on Vale Road and arrived at Tonbridge Castle as the horn sounded for another group of cyclists leaving for the annual 100 mile ride for charity. I met Dee, who was manning (or womanning) the refreshment tent. She had arrived at 6am to set up beverages and the event was well under way. She poured me a coffee, gave me a biscuit, we had a short natter, and I went on my way. And 750 cyclists went on their way.
From the castle, I walked through Hildenborough, down through golden meadows of Buttercups and found the Hilden Brook. I sat by the tinkling stream for breakfast and listened to the birdsong.
The uphill route to Shipbourne took me along the peaceful flower-bordered lane through Coldharbour and Hoad Common and a rest in the bus shelter away from the hot Sun. Two female walkers asked if there were any pubs nearby. I directed them to The Kentish Rifleman at Dunks Green. As they marched off searching for beer, I drank green tea.
The homeward walk was cool enough in the woods, but through the deep emerald fields of wheat, it was burning hot!
Sunday, 11 May 2014
A cold and windy spring morning.
11th May 2014
Something woke me and Mani lit the bedroom. But Venus rose before me. A grey sky greeted me though, as I left to satisfy my weekly pedestrian wanderlust. And the village was silent, apart from the birdsong.
Up on Gover Hill, the south westerly wind was fierce and cold; I put on gloves and coat and a Garden Warbler clung to a branch for dear life but sang prettily just the same. Into Hurst Wood, the wind died and the Bluebells were mostly gone. But new flowers replace those which take advantage of the leafless, open canopy, and Red Campion was splashing its colour along all the paths and lanes.
In the orchard, the Walnut catkins were dancing in the breeze and the flowers ready. A sharp shower went with me to Doris's bench on the hill at Crouch, but abated and I drank tea with the cold wind in my face. The valley below was all green cultivation; everything on course for a good year. Swallows searched the air like Spitfires and watching the acrobatics was mesmerising.
The land all about here would have belonged to the Culpepers and remain so until the 17th century. Old Soar Manor and Oxon Hoath Manor housed Culpepers for centuries, and other manors all through Kent and Sussex. I think the Culpepers were from Surrey originally, but where are they now. Maybe to the Americas? But the valley below me was worked for millennia by people who lived and died silently and anonymously.
The walk to up Scathes Wood warmed me and I took tea at the edge of the trees on the seat hewn from a fallen tree away from the cold wind and people. A Robin flew away and I remembered Raggedy. Water had leaked from the bladder in my rucksack and soaked my notebook, dammit!
The walk back through The Mote and Shipbourne along the paths and rides; the verges bursting and over-flowing with Queen Anne's Lace and my clothes dusted with confetti was a warmly satisfying journey home.
Something woke me and Mani lit the bedroom. But Venus rose before me. A grey sky greeted me though, as I left to satisfy my weekly pedestrian wanderlust. And the village was silent, apart from the birdsong.
Up on Gover Hill, the south westerly wind was fierce and cold; I put on gloves and coat and a Garden Warbler clung to a branch for dear life but sang prettily just the same. Into Hurst Wood, the wind died and the Bluebells were mostly gone. But new flowers replace those which take advantage of the leafless, open canopy, and Red Campion was splashing its colour along all the paths and lanes.
In the orchard, the Walnut catkins were dancing in the breeze and the flowers ready. A sharp shower went with me to Doris's bench on the hill at Crouch, but abated and I drank tea with the cold wind in my face. The valley below was all green cultivation; everything on course for a good year. Swallows searched the air like Spitfires and watching the acrobatics was mesmerising.
The land all about here would have belonged to the Culpepers and remain so until the 17th century. Old Soar Manor and Oxon Hoath Manor housed Culpepers for centuries, and other manors all through Kent and Sussex. I think the Culpepers were from Surrey originally, but where are they now. Maybe to the Americas? But the valley below me was worked for millennia by people who lived and died silently and anonymously.
The walk to up Scathes Wood warmed me and I took tea at the edge of the trees on the seat hewn from a fallen tree away from the cold wind and people. A Robin flew away and I remembered Raggedy. Water had leaked from the bladder in my rucksack and soaked my notebook, dammit!
The walk back through The Mote and Shipbourne along the paths and rides; the verges bursting and over-flowing with Queen Anne's Lace and my clothes dusted with confetti was a warmly satisfying journey home.
Wednesday, 7 May 2014
May Day
5th May 2014
The day began chilly, with a slight frost. I waited for Dee as the Sun rose and warmed me, then we drove to Ightham Mote for a May Day walk while the spring flowers still illuminate the way. The car park was quiet and we were the first there; crowds were expected today, at this popular place. The Greensand Ridge beckoned and there was just a gentle mist over the southern hills and the air was clean. Puffing and panting on the uphill climb, Dee asked if I had eaten a pie for breakfast. I explained: old age comes to everyone who is lucky.
The white flowering heads of Ransomes were spread gloriously over the wood on Willmot Hill, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of garlic. Over toward Rooks Hill, the early Bluebells were now going to seed, making the ground appear drab after the brilliant display. But One Tree Hill was still vibrant and blue.
We sat on an old fallen tree in Knole Park in sunshine for tea, watched over by an inquisitive Roe deer, stamping his feet and smelling the air. He stayed with us all this time and made us slightly nervous and Maisie sat on the trunk watching back, never stirring. When we left, he bounced (stotted) away, boing-boing. What did he mean; you can't catch me?
The noisy Parakeets were especially active above in the Chestnuts and their green backs were almost luminous in the sunlight; the Rooks' and Jackdaws' behaviour was almost genteel by comparison as they strutted about the park probing the ground. We came out of the park into the wood at Godden Green where large swathes of Rhododendron had been cleared to allow the growth of native trees. Of course, they provided cover if one was desperate for a pee, so we had to hold on for a while longer and look for a more suitable place!
As we went on through Bitchet Common, we sampled the leaves of Jack-by-the-hedge, and decided that the smaller leaves at the top were very tasty and could be used in a salad very well. But the lower leaves made one look as if a lemon had been sucked.
We stopped for tea on the Ridge overlooking the valley and watched two Buzzards wheeling and a Kestrel hovering below us, with the Sun on their backs. The day by now was warming and on the last leg to Shipbourne Church, I removed a layer. There were many walkers about close to the village; it had become a busy thoroughfare. And back at Ightham Mote, the queue at the restaurant was too long to contemplate buying cake and coffee there, so off we went home.
Tonight, as I put the cat out, and looked up, Venus and Mars and Mani were clear in the evening sky and I pondered on them.
The day began chilly, with a slight frost. I waited for Dee as the Sun rose and warmed me, then we drove to Ightham Mote for a May Day walk while the spring flowers still illuminate the way. The car park was quiet and we were the first there; crowds were expected today, at this popular place. The Greensand Ridge beckoned and there was just a gentle mist over the southern hills and the air was clean. Puffing and panting on the uphill climb, Dee asked if I had eaten a pie for breakfast. I explained: old age comes to everyone who is lucky.
The white flowering heads of Ransomes were spread gloriously over the wood on Willmot Hill, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of garlic. Over toward Rooks Hill, the early Bluebells were now going to seed, making the ground appear drab after the brilliant display. But One Tree Hill was still vibrant and blue.
We sat on an old fallen tree in Knole Park in sunshine for tea, watched over by an inquisitive Roe deer, stamping his feet and smelling the air. He stayed with us all this time and made us slightly nervous and Maisie sat on the trunk watching back, never stirring. When we left, he bounced (stotted) away, boing-boing. What did he mean; you can't catch me?
The noisy Parakeets were especially active above in the Chestnuts and their green backs were almost luminous in the sunlight; the Rooks' and Jackdaws' behaviour was almost genteel by comparison as they strutted about the park probing the ground. We came out of the park into the wood at Godden Green where large swathes of Rhododendron had been cleared to allow the growth of native trees. Of course, they provided cover if one was desperate for a pee, so we had to hold on for a while longer and look for a more suitable place!
As we went on through Bitchet Common, we sampled the leaves of Jack-by-the-hedge, and decided that the smaller leaves at the top were very tasty and could be used in a salad very well. But the lower leaves made one look as if a lemon had been sucked.
We stopped for tea on the Ridge overlooking the valley and watched two Buzzards wheeling and a Kestrel hovering below us, with the Sun on their backs. The day by now was warming and on the last leg to Shipbourne Church, I removed a layer. There were many walkers about close to the village; it had become a busy thoroughfare. And back at Ightham Mote, the queue at the restaurant was too long to contemplate buying cake and coffee there, so off we went home.
Tonight, as I put the cat out, and looked up, Venus and Mars and Mani were clear in the evening sky and I pondered on them.
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