We are visiting Ric, taking our computer, which has had another “Fatal Error”, for our dear grandson to mend, guilt rides high when we have to ask for his help. I know he does not mind, but I would much rather be giving than taking. Taking makes me feel awkward.
As I look through the windscreen at the beautiful autumnal landscape I wonder if this will be my last. Is it cancer? Will I die? If so how soon? A week on Monday I will have some badly needed answers, living with the uncertainty has not been easy.
The roads are water-laden and cars create waves on either side as high as, or even higher, than the cars themselves, as they suddenly enter flooded areas. The sky which earlier had flashes of blue is once again darkly grey and forbidding. So many men nowadays have shaven or near-shaven heads and they don’t wear hats. Are they not cold? How can they bear it?
Rivers have risen and are surging swollenly along often brushing the tops of their banks. Low-lying fields are flooded and we passed a river where the moored boat now rested high on the path – a sudden surge must have lifted it and left it there, preferable to submerging it, I guess.
Sad horses stand, heads down, in sodden, muddy fields.
Last night was very windy and today the trees have noticeably less leaves.
Large armsful of mistletoe hang heavily from bare branches, taunting us, knowing they are safe on their lofty perches, making food for birds, who will in turn set the seed for more plants to grow, some of which will be attainable for man to indulge his tribal fantasies.
Golden trees still light the road edges and are a joy to see.
The pelting rain splashing on the windscreen almost drowns out Coldplay on the stereo.
On the M25, where road-widening is in process, the chalk escarpment of the Chilterns lays bare and startling bright in the rain; the air here is good despite being on a motorway.
The last 24 hours my asthma has been very troublesome and my lungs have over-produced mucus; thank goodness I can empty my lungs with breathing techniques and postural drainage.
The chalk escarpment is overlaid in places by matting heavily bolted down, this is I suppose because the chalk is unstable comma, it is porous and lets rain drain through, but much of our rain may be acid now and this would gradually eat away the chalk.
The motorway is full up and the sky dark and heavy, I am reminded of Christmas by the myriad lights on cars, red rear and white front, yellow flashing on highway vehicles and traffic cones with winking amber lights on the top.
On the M40 now, much standing water on the surface and thick mist rising from the vehicles in front and to the side, the windscreen wipers sway to their quickest own monotonous rhythm, while Coldplay still entertains and cheers us, leaving me dancing in my seat, which always both amuses and embarrasses my dear granddaughter Meggy.
This is a beautiful stretch of the M40, less bare branches, but still bright golden leaved trees interspersed with green ones. The golden ones are, of course, the beautiful beeches, which the Chilterns are famous for.
Debris in road. SLOW. We slowed, massed blue lights, smashed cars, a van, a tiny black sports car crushed downward and facing the wrong way, debris cleared from our side, but horrors on the other side where the accident happened – just let the people be safe, and let not their relatives spend the next period of their lives in despair. A traffic jam, miles long, on the other side. The sports car reminded me of my two boys and their little sports cars and I wept for the occupants.
We are still on the M40 and the trees still thickly growing alongside are so beautiful, there are so tall, so dense and so varied.
As we turned off the M40 my senses were stunned by the obscene concrete tower of a mobile phone mast rising from behind a concrete bridge spanning the M40.
A narrow road to Ibstone wound its way through breathtaking beech woods. England in some parts is still fully natural. Beech woods gave way to fields and far-reaching views often glimpsed between the beech trunks, the leaf litter and the leaves still holding are stunningly picturesque. Evidence of last night’s high winds lay across the road surface in the form of fallen branches. Brown and black cattle and flocks of sheep graze in the green, green, sloping fields.
Male pheasants mark their territory by standing firm and refusing to leave the road, forcing us to stop and wait until they leisurely saunter out of our path, while overhead a trio of red kites wheel, silhouetted against the grey sky.
The most magnificent fairy ring I have ever seen made up of toadstools each one concave and filled with leaves and rainwater.
Another horrid mobile phone mast rising above a belt of beautiful beech trees and a field of sheep. Progress, but at what price?
A covey of female pheasants sheltering amidst pale brown ferns.
We are nearly at Ric’s home, I am thankful for the day and overjoyed with most of the journey, and the pleasure my eyes have afforded me.
So many beautiful views and so many flooded roads.
Meeting of the trees overhanging the road, the striking new growth of pine trees intermingling with beech trees and almost the same colour.
While at Ric’s home I had a rare happening – I escaped and had a good half an hour’s freedom. Unbelievable, this never happens, hard for anyone else to understand, but true, anywhere I am Mike is always with me. Whatever I do, he knows. My only space in life is when he is out shopping, then I feel a luxurious rush of freedom and hurry around doing jobs I have no incentive to do normally!
Ric was going to fetch a takeaway, Mike was on the computer, so I said, if they did not mind I would like to go for a walk alone – and I did.
I slipped out of the door, turned right at the gate, down the lane passed three or four houses, and followed a footpath left into the woods. It was strange being out alone and sad to say even a little frightening, but of course, this is because I never have this freedom; it is entirely unknown to me. The sense of space filled me with awe, the sight and smell of the wet beauty of the beech woods was wonderful.
I had my camera and took photographs of fungi, leaves, trees, pools, ferns and views.
Half an hour passed so quickly, and I found myself hurrying back so as not to hold them up from eating their food. I arrived back in time to find a search party in the guise of my grandson about to come and find me. The Indian takeaway was superb.
We had a lovely afternoon and evening with Ric. We left at 10:30pm and headed home along narrow roads through the Chiltern beech woods towards the M40.
Half an hour passed so quickly, and I found myself hurrying back so as not to hold them up from eating their food. I arrived back in time to find a search party in the guise of my grandson about to come and find me. The Indian takeaway was superb.
We had a lovely afternoon and evening with Ric. We left at 10:30pm and headed home along narrow roads through the Chiltern beech woods towards the M40.
We stopped at one point as the car headlamps picked out a female fallow deer in the road just ahead, we watched as she moved to the verge then stood right by our car watching us watching her. It was magical. A little further on we saw a muntjac, munching the verge and in a further mile or two the car headlights picked out a stoat hurrying across the road.
An excellent day!
No comments:
Post a Comment