Now, just where was I going to go ...
Up nice and steadily from the cars and by the rather buried hut circles to the flat bit. Along, along to the tor which, apparently, some brave folk have been known to climb. Not left this time but right. Right gently down to what sometimes is a busy road, no traffic today. By the rock that always looks like a cow chewing the cud and softly up to the darkest of tors where, it is alleged, once was a logan. (And no I don't think he stopped it rocking.) Somewhat steeply down to that sheltered spot where we often had a cuppa. Be a bit early this evening. Now the tricky bit to find the crossing, through the splodge and up with the lights afar to where we once had fairy cakes - remember? In the dark a bit tricky to make the track but along by the smiley stone to cross. Steadily up to the tor where not so long ago we all took a rest. Time to skip on as time is drawing by and on to cross the clapper and seek the cross and hole. Now this is always a nice spot for a cuppa. Oh dear me, getting a bit late, may miss the prime directive ... So speedily along the easy to find track by the rushing water, by the pipe and just time to spot the First Nation. Uppety up and over. Back to the cars perfectly by 0937 to make even more perfect time to the pub that is not - for a bit.
'Brenda'
Some
words and pictures especially for Brenda – which I know she is happy to share …
Cold air on my face, fresh, slight smell of farmyard manure.
Yellows. Rich daffodil yellow, pale
primrose yellow, golden dandelion yellow.
Violets violets
White stars of stitchwort
Fresh green leaves, buds of hawthorn
Sounds of evening bird song with a
backing of wood pidgin.
Water overflowing from the pond
The still air of evening, winding
down of the day
Childhood memories of dawdling home
from school along the lane, head down looking to see what was different from
yesterday's walk
Peaceful
Stella
Out of
the door, up the street, through the woods seeing no one to meet. To the
fields, spring birds sing and soar, this is enjoyable, hardly a chore.
Journey
on, hello horses, dog training courses, along the lane, rugby club closed,
devoid of beer and bawdy cheer.
Across
the old cart track, down the hill, there’s the old school, where children used
to rule and play the fool.
This
route I never tire, the fast-New road to Bickleigh I do admire, with its
military camp, green and old church spire.
Up
Little Dock lane, climbing the slope, smelling the silage, my legs give me
hope. Passing a beech tree peering on high, its huge branches spreading -
reaching the sky.
Over
the cattle grid to Roborough Down, my face just beaming and not with a frown.
Past the dry leat where animals once drank, I suppose it’s climate change we’re
having to thank.
Crossing
the main road, turning the hour, down sheep tracks I strode, onward to home,
gorse in flower, smelling sweet, better than walker’s feet!
But
first past the ‘B’ stone set in a hedge, past the Dartmoor Dinner where it’s
known for meat and two veg.
Down
the hill speckled with litter to Bickleigh Cross and Roborough Rec, into the
Village, the shut Lopes, what the heck, I’m not bitter. Memories of lunch for a
walker’s bunch, long table, laughter and banter, we’ll be back I hope at a
canter.
Past
the Vets and Brownie’s Hall where in better days bingo was once the call. Eco
houses now pass me by, my walk is nearing the end, I can’t not lie.
On this
occasion I was on my own, no one with me all alone, although walkers past and
present were on my mind, all united, common in kind.
We live
to walk, we live to talk, friendship on the road we do not baulk.
…………until
the next one.
Charlie
It started badly- crass respect for
nature in abundance as the latest development is thrown up. Then a beautiful
old path blocked off and now becoming overgrown. As it was dry a slow wander
through the marsh seem to be called for. Again, beautiful poplar trees that had
been felled - just left to rot where they were dropped. But then a purple gleam
amongst the devastation- purple toothwort - everywhere, a rare plant in
abundance. A little further on a glow of bright yellow - western skunk cabbage
- a large yellow arum Lilly, an unusual import from America.
Nature will always find a way to
shine through, and above all we mustn't let the politics ruin our day.
Mike
