June rains have been and as grey clouds roll towards the neighbouring town I walk out into the muddled air that only comes after a storm.
The hedgerows are exuberant and crazed with the latest gift of showers and sun. All about me there is life upon life. Cow parsley distorts the paths, cleavers cling to the ground and foxgloves stand stately. A dreamy landscape that edges the fields. Its in this place that swallows now dart and swoop with all the self assurance of a keen abstract painter, their tails the brush, the sky their canvas.
I am struck by the sudden scent of fox and I breathe it in deeply. I imagine her caught in the dawn rain. A dew covered crimson huntress, pausing paw in air at the muffled sounds of rabbits grazing before slipping silently through the brimming banks.
The bees appear to be without a hum as they rest dazed and unsure on blackthorn blossoms. Caught between the promise of heavy air and the threat of another downpour. Above them elderflowers reach for brighter skies like beacons of yellowing lace.
Such a moment to be alive, to taste the sweetness of spring before the heat of summer devours all that is vulnerable and replaces the greens with golds.