A magical walk through the English Hampshire Countryside as told by a local White Witch and Healer.
July: A Walk Through The Year In The English Countryside
Reclining lazily upon my sunbed drifting in and out of a relaxing daydream I am disturbed by the low drone of approaching bees; thousands of them grouped together in a tight black cloud that hovers and then hangs below the branch of a tree. I sit myself up and stare in awe at the sight before me, half afraid to move and yet transfixed at the same time. The swarm swirls and sways suddenly, the shape changing to an arrow head as if leading the way and slowly as if being sucked by a vacuum, they drift away and are gone.
Too content to get up I lay back and stare upon the blue sky of summer. The intricate weave of delicate gossamer clouds forming random shapes that evolve and then vaporise before our very eyes.
Imagination stirred, a Unicorn appears before me and I am transported to another place and another mystical, magical time. He drifts on by rising higher into the sea of blue becoming ever smaller until he disappears in a puff.
Swallows dip and dive chirruping busily as they go, their forked tail feathers distinct as they fly overhead. Higher, oh so much higher in the sky a buzzard rides the thermals playfully. Perfect peace shattered suddenly by the raucous squawking of angry rooks defending their territory from a marauding magpie.
I take a stroll through my garden and out into the field beyond. The once lush green grass now laying cut and golden yellow crackles beneath my footsteps. Bales of hay like giant Swiss rolls dot the landscape waiting to be collected by the big blue tractor stopped under the shade of the trees. I wave to the farmer sitting on one of the giant tyres swinging his legs and eating his lunch. He waves back and all is well.
Butterflies flit silently by, coming to rest upon an old wooden cart wheel. Their open wings revealing beautiful colours and patterns and just as I get near enough to take a closer look, they snap them shut as if teasing me playfully.
I walk alongside the wild margin feasting in the riot of colour laid before me, crimson poppies, purple thistle, pink mallow, white yarrow, yellow hawkweed and the pastel blues of chicory and cornflower, Nature’s own palette. The air is filled with the vintage scents of meadow sweet, honeysuckle and sweet Cicely and I am in a state of sensory overload.
A wind whips up from nowhere and the rustling leaves begin their secret symphony, I stop and listen to its haunting melody. Plants and branches bend and sway revealing the hidden jewel of silver colour on the underside leaves of the mother-wort
Above me a cherry tree heavily laden with dark blood red fruits waves its tempting bounty and will not be ignored. I hop over the fence and pluck a small bunch of the rich sumptuous fruit and as I do so a dog rose scratches my arm. I smile defiantly, a small price to pay for the taste of Summer.
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