Yesterday, the Teen and I took a walk up through a sleepy village, turning down the old farm lane, past the new stables and old barn, past the house with the garden that makes my heart contract because it is so beautiful.
Down through the wheat field where a doe and her young stag mate bounded off to the safety of the tree line. As we passed their hiding spot, a much larger pair of antlers reared above the crop but the big old stag remained lying where he was. I kept the dog on the lead until we turned the corner by the nature reserve. Turning back now and then, we could see the antlers lift again and then drop as our voices faded.
Over rickety narrow bridges, finding the gaps in the hedges that aren’t easily spotted, listening to crickets chirp, little green bugs on our arms that we studied, stepping over fallen branches. Sampling blackberries that are in need of another week of sun to sweeten them.
Came to the end. Leant against the gate whilst the dog splashed through the stream at our feet. Watch the swallows wheel and scream after insects. Viewed the path up the hill. Another time, another day. Saunter our way back home.