Distance: 11.6km
Accessibility: Limited. Bumpy footpaths on the side of hedgerows, often less than a foot wide. Some clambering required.
Landscape: Cornfields.
Golden sunshine today. Hotter than any period of June before breakfast. I decided to push myself, and head down to Bridd Scrin.
At the right time of year this gorgeous little footpath runs alongside rows and rows of wheat. The farmer had been busy. I doubt he enjoys how much access the public have. If you stretch your arms out, you can touch the top of the stems.
A pole next to a layby is the sole indicator of the route. On one side is a carving of a human being, decorated with faded purple dye. You have to traipse over sprigs of wheat infiltrating the path. Although my map confirms my righ to walk here, someone challenging me about trespassing seems plausible.
No-one else dares the heat today. Bar the tiny sips of shade, the sun makes every step a struggle. I consider turning back. But the tiny man on the pole urges me on.
Even in this weather the ground is damp from recent rain. A collection of dead stalks stick to the bottom of my boots. They form a thick sole, like I have some traditional folk dress on. The path gets so narrow that in places you have to shuffle to avoid stepping on crops. Still that sun beat down, forcing a constant sheen of sweat across my forehead.
It is weird how wheat fields look like one solid mass when you drive past them. Up close you realise that they thin lines of plants created with expertise and precision. All those hidden hands creating the landscape around us, keeping the world ticking along to invisible clockwork.
I suppose creating the Butter Mouse was like that too. Ploughing along word by word. Those books on the shelf do not reveal the hours of work needed to stich them together.
I enjoyed being a blot on the landscape. Slugging from my water bottle, and taking on the sun. Until I heard a rumbling too guttural and organic to be a tractor.
The corn on the other side of the field swayed in the still air.
::I knew Bridd Scrin was a bad idea Barbara. Close to dangerous in this heat. The project is important to me, but to be honest I needed to walk until all the thoughts were gone.
You can see below how well that went.
Cooler in the evening, but still muggy, like a damp towel is wrapped around the house. Even at half full the Moon is glowing. I know that thing is somewhere outside the window.
Heard a bang, like one of the bins falling over. Both remain upright.
I need your help with the next section. Is this going to work? Everything is a mess. This is meant to be the quiet time to write but I keep checking out the window. Sunburn keeps my skin alight. Words grind out like broken glass and treacle.
Broken glass in cement is better. Maybe.
Perhaps it is time to return to the Butter Mouse?::
