is waif
A WAIF'S WALK
Come along for a walk with me.
We start off on a country lane. On our left is where Lancelot and Orlando live. They’re horses. Behind the shed we just passed lives a rabbit who is blind, we keep an eye on the sweet thing but are careful to not be intrusive. It’s impressive they’re still alive to be honest.
Further down the road, there’s a tree branch that sticks out at a perfect ninety-degree angle; the closest town, miles away, is framed within the twigs. There are green fields, and sheep dotted about and the sky is clear and blue. England isn’t as dreary as everyone thinks, something I will always be persistent about. The faraway cars twinkle and look rather pretty from here. I think it’s weird that those metal chunks add value to this picture, but they do, oddly enough.
Well, let’s keep going.
We’ve made our way to the bottom of the lane where the road forks, and we turn right. Up here there’s an opening onto a pasture that slopes ever so gently downwards. Technically, we’re not supposed to go into it, but we do anyway. But only a few steps, so that we don’t see where it ends; it feels like it goes on forever, as if the rest of the world is in this one field.
Right, back onto the road.
We walk past magnificent trees that grow from one root but look like multiple individuals. A strong community. Now we find ourselves at the part of the road that interrupts the babiest of streams; the part of the road that looks a bit like a mirror. We splash on through and come to the fields.
This bit is my favourite. Everything is wide open; there’s so much free space for your thoughts to run wild.
Just keep going now.
Above us, the swallows dance from tree to tree, and Buddy the Buzzard is doing that thing birds do when they seem to be floating still in the breeze.
It’s at this point I always ask myself if I’d rather be a tree or a bird. Since you’re here, I’d probably ask you. Something rooted or something constantly moving?
Let’s discuss this as we trudge through the muddiest of meadows. We laugh as we precariously squelch on through, trying not to fall over. And finally, we make it to my favourite hugger.
By now you’ve guessed I’m a bit of a nature waif. I can’t help it. But seriously though – this tree gives the best hugs.
The sky has darts of pink strewn across it now, so we must head back. And we do.