Late April, East Devon
Walk the lanes, take the air, clear the head,stretch those legs, walk them, walk those ancient ways, familiar yet something new, across Cory Brook, fruity farmyard smells, lush pastures freshly cut silage, mewing Devon Reds out of winter quarters, bleating lambs with their mothers basking in the morning sun.
Walk the lanes, walk them, walk those ancient ways, campion, greater stitchwort, herb robert, clouds of cow parsley banks of native blue bell either side waving me on my way in the gentle breeze , squeeze in for a milk tanker then the clip clop of a passing rider on their charge, pleasantries exchanged with a ruddy faced farmer arriving to check on stock, wiggling River Yarty comes into view, myriad hues of illuminated green,may flower, blossom, hedgerows clipped, darting swallows, skylark, birds song everywhere, cockerel sounding hens rooting in the yard, hamlets, ancient bridges, tumble down outbuildings, and catching the scent of lilac and wisteria dressed cottages
Yes walk the lanes, walk them, walk those ancient ways, turn at Crandons Cross and head towards Bedlam Lane but then take a footpath along the Yarty, quiet, few if any people, an elusive woodpecker knocking, rest awhile, peacock butterfly settles and then is away, sun catching the rivulets in mini cascades, blankets of yellow buttercups descending to the river, rejoin the lane, high banks rising up like a tunnel to Westwater, highpoint, a vista, open skies, the town below, Minster standing sentinel.
And so to home refreshed, renewed, I will walk those lanes again, walk them, walk those ancient ways.
And so to home refreshed, renewed, I will walk those lanes again, walk them, walk those ancient ways.
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