It's a warm sweaty night, so our walk, mercifully, joins the dots from pond to stream to drainage ditch to dyke. At each, we are allowed to scurry down the bank and paddle (or swim, if we lep' into a bit that's deeper than we thought, Haggis), but if we don't fancy that, then we can rush up and down the bank and try to guess what all the excitement's about. As you know, I am on an "impress the humans by staying clean and dry" campaign, so I don't go in, while Meggie and H get quite sordid. Mind you I do join them in the "rolling on your back to dry yourself" action, even though I am dry. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
The abandoned fields (no longer farmed, but still escaping the developer's bull-dozers) out back of Dad's allotment, are very bright at present, with wild flowers. We have yellows from ragwort and bristly ox-tongue, purples from willow-herbs (rose bay (= fireweed) and "greater"), thistles and teasels, darker purples from tufted vetch, whites from wild carrot, ox-eye daisy and convulvulus, we have clovers (red and white), and we have the dark terracotta of old dock flower spikes, now turned to seed.
It's all chest-high on Dad, so we are pleased (and we might be in a minority here!) that the dirt-bike boys get out there cutting and wearing paths through those fields. If it wasn't for those guys those fields would be denied to us by now. They might be noisy, but they definitely improve access. As long as they are responsible and don't run us over (so far they are, and they don't!) then more power to their elbows!
Have a great weekend
Deefs
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