This is not going to be pretty.
It will be bleak and it will be beautiful because of that.
Down in the valley it was clear, even if the sky was like looking up to a Tupperware lid. Up on the Downs, though, it was different – I was in the clouds.
This is what it was like, and it was already 8.30am:
I knew it wasn’t going to be a bright sunny day, but I didn’t expect it to be so dank and dismal. But there’s something about this kind of weather, though, eh? Curiously, I rather like it.
The imagination floats on that mist. You can see how ancient peoples occupied that mirk with supernatural creatures. And in many ways, they were absolutely right. The thing they got wrong is where those creatures were hiding – they’re not outside us, but inside.
I started on top of the hills, skirted around a steep draw, before making my way down. As we all know, the main drawback with walking downhill is that at some point you’ve got walk back up it. Some will say that walking downhill can be just as hard as walking uphill.
I rather think it isn’t, though.
I must confess, I was hoping to see a bit of wildlife. In these conditions that was going to be unlikely. Again, though, what you find is not outside but inside. The breeze was brisker than expected – perhaps 10/12mph – and had a slight chill. I hadn’t brought any gloves with me, so I drew my hands into my sleeves and pulled the hood of my jacket over my ears. Feeling those bones beneath your skin, the chill wind, the patches of slippery mud, makes you engage and feel part of something, alive and full and a being of this universe as much as the stars and trees. There you are, delving into the gloom, living and breathing, a creature carved and chiselled out of this earth like every other living being.
There were living beings around though, also doing their best (in even more difficult circumstances than I have to endure) to thrive. I saw several patches of recently disturbed ground. You can’t see them so well in his picture, but there were distinct claw marks in the scraped earth. Too big for a bunny. I would say either a fox or badger, rooting for worms or roots and bulbs. It gets hard this time of year – standards have to drop. It’ll still be a few more weeks yet until Spring shows itself.
Let’s not forget the birds either. In a few months, the chalky Downs will be alive with Yellowhammers, Wheatears, Swallows and Martins. These migrants seem exotic and draw the eye and we can take the humble Robin for granted. But at this time of year it’s the Robin who will be with you, be your friend, seeing what he can scavenge from you, perhaps brighten the gloomy day with a song. I never take the robin for granted. Another bird I see a lot of this time of year is the Stonechat (a cousin of the Robin). These are year-round residents, but when the Spring and Summer visitors arrive they get lost in the crowd. I never take the Stonechat for granted either.
Walking back up the hill I saw a small snail shell. Nothing unusual there – lots of snail shells on the North Downs. Dammit, the Downs are made of many millions of year’s of snail shells. This shell was different. It was so translucent it shone in the mist. I picked it up, it was solid, whole, and had strength. I thought of the snail that once lived in it, and could I have seen the body of the snail if it was still resident. Maybe. Maybe fallen victim to the Thrushes that scrape in their own way at the soil like the foxes and badgers do. I put the shell in my pocket, to go on my curio shelf when I got home.
And that’s where I was a short while later, indoors, back down in the valley, back in the warmth of my house, the cloudy hills still above me.
It will be bleak and it will be beautiful because of that.
Down in the valley it was clear, even if the sky was like looking up to a Tupperware lid. Up on the Downs, though, it was different – I was in the clouds.
This is what it was like, and it was already 8.30am:
I knew it wasn’t going to be a bright sunny day, but I didn’t expect it to be so dank and dismal. But there’s something about this kind of weather, though, eh? Curiously, I rather like it.
The imagination floats on that mist. You can see how ancient peoples occupied that mirk with supernatural creatures. And in many ways, they were absolutely right. The thing they got wrong is where those creatures were hiding – they’re not outside us, but inside.
I started on top of the hills, skirted around a steep draw, before making my way down. As we all know, the main drawback with walking downhill is that at some point you’ve got walk back up it. Some will say that walking downhill can be just as hard as walking uphill.
I rather think it isn’t, though.
I must confess, I was hoping to see a bit of wildlife. In these conditions that was going to be unlikely. Again, though, what you find is not outside but inside. The breeze was brisker than expected – perhaps 10/12mph – and had a slight chill. I hadn’t brought any gloves with me, so I drew my hands into my sleeves and pulled the hood of my jacket over my ears. Feeling those bones beneath your skin, the chill wind, the patches of slippery mud, makes you engage and feel part of something, alive and full and a being of this universe as much as the stars and trees. There you are, delving into the gloom, living and breathing, a creature carved and chiselled out of this earth like every other living being.
There were living beings around though, also doing their best (in even more difficult circumstances than I have to endure) to thrive. I saw several patches of recently disturbed ground. You can’t see them so well in his picture, but there were distinct claw marks in the scraped earth. Too big for a bunny. I would say either a fox or badger, rooting for worms or roots and bulbs. It gets hard this time of year – standards have to drop. It’ll still be a few more weeks yet until Spring shows itself.
Let’s not forget the birds either. In a few months, the chalky Downs will be alive with Yellowhammers, Wheatears, Swallows and Martins. These migrants seem exotic and draw the eye and we can take the humble Robin for granted. But at this time of year it’s the Robin who will be with you, be your friend, seeing what he can scavenge from you, perhaps brighten the gloomy day with a song. I never take the robin for granted. Another bird I see a lot of this time of year is the Stonechat (a cousin of the Robin). These are year-round residents, but when the Spring and Summer visitors arrive they get lost in the crowd. I never take the Stonechat for granted either.
Walking back up the hill I saw a small snail shell. Nothing unusual there – lots of snail shells on the North Downs. Dammit, the Downs are made of many millions of year’s of snail shells. This shell was different. It was so translucent it shone in the mist. I picked it up, it was solid, whole, and had strength. I thought of the snail that once lived in it, and could I have seen the body of the snail if it was still resident. Maybe. Maybe fallen victim to the Thrushes that scrape in their own way at the soil like the foxes and badgers do. I put the shell in my pocket, to go on my curio shelf when I got home.
And that’s where I was a short while later, indoors, back down in the valley, back in the warmth of my house, the cloudy hills still above me.
