Travelling along, I notice it is sticky bud time and with a smile on my face I think of the smooth, brown, delicately patterned conkers (horse chestnuts) that the autumn will bring. They are part of nature's treasures and I always gather some and keep them in a bowl, where daily I can admire them. Eventually, as winter chills fill the air, I put them out with the bird food and the squirrels take them.
We come to a crossroads where a golden circle of narcissi, centers the area where the four roads meet. Further on, we are treated to banks of bright celandines and later to clumps of yellow daffodils, prettying up the verges. Many trees are now covered in blossom of white and varying shades of pink. A clematis Armandii droops and pours over a wall, its clean bright, white flowers standing out against its strong darkly green leaves. I see sycamore trees with small, bright, limey green bunches of new growth on every branch and twig.
We pass rich, spring green fields of fresh growth bordering the road and stretching out into the distance until seemingly they touch the sky, where it meets the horizon.
I am reminded of the fields of my childhood, and how they have changed in the intervening years, then they were known by their names which often denoted their size, such as half acre field or two acre field, now they are boundless, stretches of land. Where I wonder are all the hedgers and ditchers of my early years, with their brown wizened faces, bent backs, gnarled hands and always a cheery word for a passer-by. They did a fine job. Now most hedges are not cut and laid, ditches are not kept clear, and in many cases fields have lost their hedge boundaries and are now vast and open, characterless dust bowls.
Progress I guess. Easier for the farmers, but not as good for wildlife and definitely not as pretty.
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