Distance: 8.7km
Accessibility: A path exists, but this is marshy ground. Be mindful of water either side.
Landscape: Wetlands.
I have decided to embrace the autumn. Get into the squelchiness, the nip in the air. Dive through the morning fog that filters the sun. These walks are not a reduction of those completed in the summer months, but a whole new experience. A test of my clothes, and my stamina.
So I headed to the marshy ground of Dryman Copse. These wetlands hold all sorts of species of birds, from lanky herons, to hopping waders. This is my last chance to hear their calls amongst the pools. They will all be heading to Africa soon.
Plus if the ground is soggy, nothing will be able to run after me. Even on hundreds of legs you cannot defeat the bog. Even if you can swim. And talk.
I am not sure if that is corre
The car park was empty except for the remains of a bicycle chained to the side of a fence. A layer of dirt in the car park was dank and grainy, and reminded you of the word silt. Rain threatened from the overcast sky above, but nothing broke through.
A gravel track ran between pools as thick as gravy. I headed down the path, damp already crawling up my jeans. Reeds often hid water that lurked out of sight.
This ground is so far from our natural habitat. A flooded landscape we should want to run away from. The coast feeding everything. And yet to be there was to be part of something still wild and ancient. Untouched.
Silent.
Where were the birds?
A quiet bubbling was the sole companion to my footsteps. This might have been my quietest walk so far. For yet another part of my travels, I was alone. If there is one thing learnt from writing this book, it is how many corners of this country lie hidden and alone.
Until a familiar face appeared.
::I am on the attack now Barbara. I am not going to let this defeat me. This must be where Archie comes from. This ruthlessness underneath.
I suppose this leads to how we met eh? All those rejections. All those letters. We may never have known each other if I had given up twenty failed attempts in.
Next year will be twelve months of relaxation. I will sit here in the woods, and be calm. Take my time sorting everything with Archie.
By next year the Butter Mouse will be a memory.
Lovely picture of the wetlands below. Nice to be out of the forest.. ::
