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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It's Saturday morning and I'm off for another meander before the thunderstorms return. I start right in the middle of an industrialised farm, things grow here on invisible root systems. Everything else is shiny grey. However, this bit is public right of way. Ahh, there's a chance I've taken a wrong turn, as rusted iron and things that make you die by misadventure appear... Oh yes, I'm on the wrong side of a wire fence. I'll retrace my steps. I've only done this route in reverse. Here we go - I'm back on the gravel. The dog is still pretty impressed, as he was bored of the field, so I can't put a foot wrong. I'm here, beyond the farm and through the gate, and it's all here for me now. Of course I'll need to choose a favourite tree. Ferns literally aren't bothered in the slightest - such casual frondiness that I can only assume we're on first name terms. I'm giddily delighting in every sensation reaching me through my feet - the little spin of a fallen twig quickly replaced by gravel or muddy sections laid with bits of broken fence so I can cross. Now I've left it behind for the tarmac of a graffitied bridge over a major road. If I close my eyes, the noise and wind transports me and I could be spinning through space. There was a storm yesterday, and everything is fresh and breezy. Traffic whizzes in two directions, creating otherworldly background noise - yet I still gaze at little red ants living their lives on the steel. The nuts and bolts and rivets, contrasted against curves, just outlast me in a way that feels just right and puts me in my place. There's an enormity of nothing anyone else seems to care for, so I witness it on my own. The grasses sway at the side of the path any which way they like. An unreachable tree has been crushed - so maybe aliens landed to study how it's possible for grasses to disobey the wind when they get tall enough. (Until the wind shows it who's boss, but that's for another time.) Today, we sway where we want to. It's a forest of fronds too, scaling heights. There are carpets of buttercups, damp from the rain. The hem of my dress mingles with them like it has a life of its own. Nobody has fixed a fallen tree. It looks like it snapped last night. I duck under it, perhaps recklessly as I'm two miles into an unnamed area of land. Pretty sure I can see an alpaca... Oh hang on - I'm pretty sure an alpaca can see me! That's cute! I love being spotted by wildlife (that isn't cows in the same field as me). Ha, just looked round and the dog has questions about the waiting time. Bye bye, alpaca. A broken branch, adorned with little lantern leaves remains suspended in beautiful contrasting colour; ivy creeps in leaves of every size, brambles grow, nettles are abundant, thistles make me clutch my chest because they are that beautiful... And then I go through a gate and there's a bin and a road, so I turn and go back the way I came. On my return route, I'm putting the right amount of concentration into choosing my favourite tree. I can't help but love curly ones and those so old they could laugh at my insignificance. (But they never do.) Taking it all into consideration, I'm going to choose one with two almost horizontal branches - the kind all the birds perch on in Disney films. I believe the crows in Dumbo almost certainly sat here... a tree of enlightenment where you stop mocking or being mocked and realise everything is just magical Distance covered: 4 miles
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