A symphony of feelings
The lazy mist crept on its journey slow, I’m glad I shrugged off the hibernal gloom, the sky was blue, the clouds like cotton balls, it was a beautiful day banishing the gloom and the morning felt fresh minted. In the corner of my vision a skylark rose singing a torrent of bubbling music. With his silver chain of song, I listened tentatively to those blended notes telling me that spring had returned once more. I marvelled at the exhausting energy of it all as the music deftly wooed. With Maverick’s new palette of sniffs, we headed for the trees, as we entered the nook of the wood something caught my eye, a man sat on a fallen log with a large dog by his side. His vowels were as rich and confident as Victorian furniture, his hands seemed to wander without reference to what he said. When I tried to speak my voice went unheard, my words were rejected and counted for nothing, I therefore refrained from the spoken word, his presence diluted the reverence as I disconnected our conversation. Maverick’s eyes were locked in on them both, we wandered on and left this place, heading for the edgeland of the fields.
I could hear the tractor ploughing, but when I looked across at the turned earth it was devoid of life, even the gulls were disappointed. It would seem the plough has caused more harm than the sword through deep ploughing, intense farming and a vast amount of chemicals used on the land over many decades. Millions of tiny creatures had become lost from the land. We must nurture soil, by using good husbandry and adopting mixed farming techniques, the precious land could be healed and the humus brought back to life, becoming more productive and healthier.
Like the floating meadows of the oceans (floating algae) which are the main factor in maintaining the balance of gases in the earth’s atmosphere, they need to be protected for they produce the bulk of the oxygen we breathe which drifts in vast clouds. Agriculture also has a way to mitigate climate change, grasses being the most widespread, versatile and adaptable plants for the task in hand would help to restore the balance. Grazing animals would benefit from feasting on the lush grass instead of being kept indoors for their entire lives, the welfare and mental wellbeing of these animals would be hugely improved. Enough carbon could then be sequestered (hidden deep) within the soil restoring the balance. The ground dwelling birds and animals like the majestic hare, rabbits and the red mice of the meadow, and our beautiful songbirds like the skylark would return to our skies. It is not only the air and water that are our precious resources but also the leaves of grass. What is under our boot soles is so important, a fascinating world, yet we seem to ignore the importance, intrigue, mystery and wonders of life that lies beneath our feet and the truly fascinating subject of soil science.
When I reflect on the sad losses of our precious greenbelt, close to ruination, my feelings go deep. I truly believe that we should cherish our green inheritance, not pillage it. But sadly, my heart falls again, the hedgerows too have been mercilessly flayed to near death, creating a floss of flayed twig ends, leaving them open to infection, disease and possible loss, this then opens a gap in the corridor of shelter and safety for all wildlife to travel, exposing them to danger. These antient and precious hedgerows play a very important role in the storage of harmful carbons. We have personally observed the sad loss of many reed buntings, white throats and other species in our local area and it reeks vindictiveness.
The mood changes once more as Maverick and I take our distance again where there are no passing feet. I can hear the matrical sound of a meandering stream close by which gladdens my heart, my early trickle of feelings soon swells to a torrent. Here the loitering wind sighs in the green crest towers of the trees, down below in the understory the brambles wave upon the breeze. By late summer, the berries will be as sweet as a larder to a mouse. The dark blotched arrow shaped leaves of the wild arum (Lords and Ladies) are growing fast, moistened with dew that drips untremblingly down from bough to bough, from a tree above, orb-like and unblown.
As we rest awhile upon a bench where a baby with her mother sits close by, Darcie’s mouth is stretched to cry but suddenly with a gush of joy, her mother soothes her and whispers hush, her tiny voice fell faint and low. Un-ruffled, slumberous and alone with his shadow, couchent in sleep, Maverick lay like a sedated sloth. To my surprise a crow appeared close by with eyes like pools of endless depth, with the shimmering of his wings he trades his beauty for food. To my amazement I noticed an area of white feathering upon his throat, swaggering conscientiously looking like a priest wearing his black soutane. Using his breath but not his voice, later however, becoming strident, I love his character and spirit, but the peace is suddenly disturbed once more by a menacing party of magpies which appeared and turned their felonious talents to pillaging the scattered food. However, the warrior crow who I named Croghan struck like lightning, scattering them in all directions. Maverick also sprang into action with his loud staccato bark, what a truly time-stamped moment.
I love the mood and beauty of this area, with a bravura of bird song, the creaking of the partridges in the near distance and the parabola of curved flight of the wood pigeons free-falling, we leave this special place. But I must return here sometime soon to mine a little deeper into the beauty and mystery of this beguiling setting.
