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Showing posts from February, 2016

Enchanted Places ... A Secret Garden

It's a wonderful feeling when you come across something unexpected.
I was being the intrepid explorer - wandering into the unknown.
It was a patch of land behind a churchyard that first aroused my curiosity.
Venturing in, I did not know what I would find - probably trespassing on private property.
There were firs and tree saplings, old dried out grasses and ivy scrambling along the ground.
It was eerily quiet.
I spotted a clearing, and then gasped in surprise, there, right in front of me, was a woodland glade full of snowdrops.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something else.
An old dilapidated building.
In the middle of this wildwood.
Three plastered walls; the roof long fallen in, roof tiles shattered on the floor like a terracotta mosaic;  glassless windows with ivy hanging like curtains.

My imagination went into overdrive; what was the building used for? Who had lived there? Why had it been abandoned?
I went inside to get the feel of the place but it held on to it…

Water, Water, Everywhere ~ Walking The Water Meadows ...

Wellington boots were the order of the day.
We visited the local water meadows.
An overflow for the lake and canal.
The water meanders through the meadows in sinuous curves.
It is a very watery place.
And in winter wellington boots are an absolute must.
Mud is plentiful.
The sun was bright but the wind was icy cold and invigorating.
It was very soggy underfoot.
Following the water course is a scrubby woodland full of brash undergrowth with secret places.
The sort of untamed wilderness that I love; where tangles of branches and brambles twine together. Where ancient hawthorns stand gnarled and knobbly.
Where wild animals make their homes and birds sing, unseen.
There is freedom to roam; to explore and exclaim at the beauty of it all.
The water wends its way through the fields; tumbling over rocks and fallen branches.
Swift eddies swirling past obstacles.
A place where King Cups grow and Pussy Willow reaches for the sky.
My kind of place.

Directional arrows that can't q…

When Gravity Takes Over ...

Or, how to lose your dignity in one easy lesson
I hit the ground with a thud.
My body jarring on impact with the solid surface of the road.
I stumbled.
And tumbled.
And fell.

It was the mud that was the culprit.
Stepping off the road to let a car pass on the narrow lane.
I lost my balance as my boots sank into the soft mud of the verge.
I toppled.
I lay sprawled and undignified in the mud and puddles.
Don't laugh.

A hand reached out to pull me up.
My husband.
A look of concern on his face.
'Are you alright?'
I was winded, but unhurt, except for a throbbing where my head hit the road.
Possibly a few bruises will show themselves later.
But no bones broken.

I told him I was fine.
But fine.
What hurt most was my loss of dignity.

My clothes were filthy; my jeans, my coat, my gloves all caked with muck.
I turned round to go home; ending the walk before it had hardly begun.
Luckily we were the only two about - no one else to see my fall from grace.
How embarrassing that …

And The Songbird Sweetly Sings ...

Most days I take my daily stroll on the same route around the village.
I see the same fields every day;
The same lanes and roads;
The same houses;
Sometimes even the same people walking the same way as me every day.

I know which trees the squirrels prefer and see them leaping from branch to branch.
I know where the snowdrops will appear in the ditches.
I know which part of the hedgerow the pigeons will burst out from as I pass by.
I know the territories of the robins as I hear them singing their song.
I know where animals make their nests in the bole of a tree.
All this is catalogued in my brain.
This is the advantage of walking the same route every day in every season.
You look more closely, observe and remember.

But, just as everything is the same, there are also differences.
A tree succumbs to the strong winds, the top snaps and crashes to the ground.
The trunk rent asunder.
Branches and debris scattered across the road.
Raw scars where limbs have been ripped off.
Ivy still clingi…