On our day of arrival we had naps, and then slept through the night just great. Yesterday, no nap, and I had a wretched sleep. At 6am the sun was up so I dressed and went stomping out. The air was cool and hazy with early sunlight.
I took the south road and turned off at the bridlepath that led through a dark green tunnel of trees. The forest was dark and cool, the sounds of wood pigeons and pheasants bursting out with a great flapping of wings as I passed by. And here I thought I was a delicate, soft footed creature. Sheesh.
The English countryside has charms unmatched, just as every country's rural landscape is more individual than its cities. My path was lined on either side with thick hedgerows a metre high, a tangle of blackberry, elderberry, blackthorn, ivy, nettle, holly and other spiky things that no doubt run rampant in most every English hedgerow. These dense footpath borders also house all sorts of animals and birds and insects, only a few of which I heard or saw.
After awhile the path opened up, with a field of pale green wheat rolling away to my right, moving as a wave under the breeze. In the distance there were a few tall trees that looked like dark sentinels marching along the horizen in silhouette against the morning's soft golden light and rising mist. Lovely.
I continued as far as the footpath that turned right over the cornfields then turned back home for a well earned breakfast.
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