Covid-19 Lockdown - A Rural Diary - Day 11
Friday 3rd April
I have just come back in from a beautiful evening walk, much-needed after a day at the computer and technological headaches.
I set out with a fuzzy head, brain-addled and crabby of mood. For the first 20 minutes I just downloaded my frustrations to G as we walked along the track above our house, heading west into the sun which had been popping in and out of clouds all day. There was stillness all around, the sound of birdsong, a soft evening light brushing the hills with gold, and shadows across the valley. Not a soul in sight, no sounds of cars rushing along the main road below, the breathless reservoir a mirror for the surrounding hills. Slowly the birdsong impinged on my frazzled brain and I started to properly absorb the beauty around me.
We took a left off the track into a valley which I had never seen even after 17 years of life here. A sheep lay bloated and dead by the wall, stark reminder - as if we needed it right now - that nature is not always kind. Picking our way over rough tussocks of green-brown grass, smoothed by rains, the valley opened up before us, intimate and alluring in all its simplicity. Green slopes rose up to left and right, a small pond hidden in marsh grass, a natural watering hole. On cue, two large stags with magnificent horns burst from the copse in the middle distance, paused briefly to survey us and bound behind each other up the hill, following an unseen path. We stood and watched, privileged to exist side by side with these noble creatures, until they passed from sight. Ahead, beech trees clustered behind a dry stone wall and, as we resumed movement, our feet crunched over the small brown empty husks of its long lost fruits. A grey squirrel scampered through the trunks, beneficiary of its autumn bounty.
A view opened up ahead of us to the next distant valley, pine-clad slopes and the glint of another sheet of still water; beyond that, a long golden vista of hills and dales stretching west towards the Welsh Mountains and the Irish Sea, timeless as the setting sun.
Turning back towards home, we revelled in the last long rays of light as we climbed a wide broad hillside towards the telephone mast, unwelcome reminder of the modern world. As we descended the other side of the hill, all was now shadow in the valleys but still nature had some treats in store. A large hare rushed across my path, bursting forth from nowhere, and zig-zagged his way downwards, cross, no doubt, at being disturbed. And as we came over the final undulations of the hillside, the ears and nose of a curious lamb came into sight, soon followed by his mother and three other ewes with their delightful charges. If there are lambs, it is Spring. And if it is Spring, there is hope.
I have just come back in from a beautiful evening walk, much-needed after a day at the computer and technological headaches.
I set out with a fuzzy head, brain-addled and crabby of mood. For the first 20 minutes I just downloaded my frustrations to G as we walked along the track above our house, heading west into the sun which had been popping in and out of clouds all day. There was stillness all around, the sound of birdsong, a soft evening light brushing the hills with gold, and shadows across the valley. Not a soul in sight, no sounds of cars rushing along the main road below, the breathless reservoir a mirror for the surrounding hills. Slowly the birdsong impinged on my frazzled brain and I started to properly absorb the beauty around me.
We took a left off the track into a valley which I had never seen even after 17 years of life here. A sheep lay bloated and dead by the wall, stark reminder - as if we needed it right now - that nature is not always kind. Picking our way over rough tussocks of green-brown grass, smoothed by rains, the valley opened up before us, intimate and alluring in all its simplicity. Green slopes rose up to left and right, a small pond hidden in marsh grass, a natural watering hole. On cue, two large stags with magnificent horns burst from the copse in the middle distance, paused briefly to survey us and bound behind each other up the hill, following an unseen path. We stood and watched, privileged to exist side by side with these noble creatures, until they passed from sight. Ahead, beech trees clustered behind a dry stone wall and, as we resumed movement, our feet crunched over the small brown empty husks of its long lost fruits. A grey squirrel scampered through the trunks, beneficiary of its autumn bounty.
A view opened up ahead of us to the next distant valley, pine-clad slopes and the glint of another sheet of still water; beyond that, a long golden vista of hills and dales stretching west towards the Welsh Mountains and the Irish Sea, timeless as the setting sun.
Turning back towards home, we revelled in the last long rays of light as we climbed a wide broad hillside towards the telephone mast, unwelcome reminder of the modern world. As we descended the other side of the hill, all was now shadow in the valleys but still nature had some treats in store. A large hare rushed across my path, bursting forth from nowhere, and zig-zagged his way downwards, cross, no doubt, at being disturbed. And as we came over the final undulations of the hillside, the ears and nose of a curious lamb came into sight, soon followed by his mother and three other ewes with their delightful charges. If there are lambs, it is Spring. And if it is Spring, there is hope.
Comments
And thank you Elizabeth too. Rest assured I shall be reading your experience too, always beautifully written :-).