Heavy skies and fulsome rain have been our lot for many days. The stream gushes by outside our front door; weeds have grown at an alarming speed and we look out and sigh. So when the clouds parted briefly yesterday evening, I colllared Jay at the end of work and hauled him up onto the hills.
Hoover was feisty, fed up with being indoors, darting about the place, convinced that rabbits needed attention, searching out anyone who might be about the place. We may not be that keen on the rain, and many crops are delayed by lack of sunshine, but wild flowers are doing their bit to lighten our vision.
Hoover disappeared into the rape, now browning and beaten low by the heavy rain. We caught strangled yips of delight as she found invisible friends with whom to play tag, and we tracked her progress from the occasional quiver in the seed heads. I enticed her out with loud offers of biscuits and she returned, panting at our sides, as we descended into the next valley. Scudding clouds chased light and shadow across the fields turning the old tin roof of a decrepit barn to brilliant terracotta.
Dodging puddles, we followed the track up the hill heading towards the blue. Sudden warmth lifted our hearts and the birds burst into song around us. Hoover’s eyes darted about the place, looking for any opportunity for her feet to follow suit. We headed on towards the blue ahead conversation flowing languidly as we stopped to admire things pointing them out to each other.
Hog weed rearing out of the hedgerow, towered over us, Despite our constant battle with it in our wild garden I cannot help but admire it. Jay is less sure. He is the one who fights the main battle with it.
And then we spot a tiny seed head, too.