I realised this morning that it’s been a long time since I went for a walk. That’s not to say I have been shut up indoors. Nor that I have been entirely sedentary: I may not complete my 10,000 steps each day, but I actually do walk quite a lot.
But taking the short-cut across the park in a rush to catch a train, racing off to the bus station, or scurrying round the supermarket in a lunch break don’t really count as going for a walk. Nor does tottering in high heels from the bus stop up the mile-long drive of a country hotel to attend a business meeting, however rural the setting and however much wildlife one sees en route. (I’ve noticed that many such hotels are on bus routes, though I’m pretty sure the guests don’t use pubic transport; I assume it’s so the staff can get there without them needing to be able to afford to run a car.)
Anyway, having got up stupidly early for a Sunday, I decided a walk was in order today. I didn’t go far – just to the wild park that’s on our doorstep, where, because it was early, the only other people about were a few dog-walkers.
It was too early for blackberries.
Though the brambles were certainly getting ready.
It was too early for pears.
And it was too early for whatever fruit these are going to turn into. (In another lifetime, I might have thought avocados or citrus fruit, but not midsummer in middle England.)
It was too early for conkers.
It was too early for these thistles.
It was definitely too early for me to know what these spiky buds are going to turn into. Purple thistles? Yellow sow thistles?
Again, it was too early for me to identify these pretty pink composite flowers.
And it was too early for the rosebay willow herb, but not too early for me to recognise it and be glad that it’s on its way.
don't confuse the narrator 