HSP senses working overtime
An antidote to my last post, and a tribute to an XTC song …
I breathe in the crisp early air and find myself singing, “Oh what a beautiful morning”. Then, rounding the corner, I meet a curious sight which triggers another line, “All the horses are standing like statues”.
Eight of them, standing along the outbuilding wall, end to end, like some sort of orderly equine queue. Some have blankets, others just their own coats. Not a sound, not a twitch. I suspect they were chatting before I arrived.
I walk on. The ground is bone dry after a fortnight of fine weather. A month ago, this path was a gloopy quagmire, passable only by hanging onto an unhelpfully waggly wire fence.
Today, I surf a series of narrow, brick-hard mud ridges and feel every contour through the prematurely thinning soles of my shoes. Next, I limbo vertically past what was rumoured to be – but isn’t – Japanese Knotweed. But best not to touch.
Up ahead, the dogs lodging at the kennels begin morning barks. One yelps in complaint – I imagine its haunch being nipped or its breakfast nicked by the resident bully.
Then comes a choice: the right-hand path over a sharp rock, or the left with its lower, smoother shapes. I opt right because I like to spring off the tallest rock – momentary loftiness for this short person.
Then it’s onto the grass and three options: I take the middle trail, mainly because I like the view it gives me – straight up the downslope of the 8th fairway.
I admire the newly cut stripes which satisfy my thirst for straight lines and contrasting shades; and I take pleasure in green meeting blue on the horizon.
At the end of the field, I place my feet carefully – the inclining mud is as hard and smooth as lightly dusted sheet metal.
Suddenly, all my senses are engulfed by one. Garlic fills my nostrils to their very apex and capacity. Did I just turn into some sort of aromatic tunnel?
I see clumps of sprouting green, topped with tiny triangles of white, fighting for space along both sides of the lane. Cluster upon cluster of blooming wild garlic.
I walk the flavour furlong, past the stables, tasting chicken and lemon … or lime.
I slow my pace, not wanting this nourishment to end. Stopping, I drink in the aromatic atmosphere and beautiful birdsong. Sun breaks through the trees.
Ecstasy (XTC) for the senses……
