bewilderbrain

An angry footpath guardian, a bird of prey with landing gear, and a small crew with equine attitude…

I get out of the car wearily – take a deep inhalation of fresh rain-washed air.

The week has been difficult, and I haven’t been out much, so I seize the opportunity offered by a gap in the showers, taking a short drive to the other side of town.

Here lies the location of an unexplored right of way – discovered on my footpath app this morning.

I find a peculiar solace in footpath maps, and this mornings study revealed a route up the edge of a mountain in a new location.

All I really have the legs for today is to have a look, to locate its start point -an investigation for a future walk.

With some footpaths the track is blatantly obvious – with others – an overgrown and nearly invisible stile declares the entrance to an impenetrable wilderness, so it’s always exciting to see what you might face.

My energy is still very low, but I need a brief amble, some views – maybe some flowers, some kind of distraction, that is all.

I walk slowly up a picturesque farm lane, breathing the scent of the damp greenery.

The hedgerows either side are blushed with the brilliant pink red shades of campion and valerian, and clusters of vibrant buttercups are swaying gently amongst the long grasses.

A turn in the lane reveals a wide and obvious track heading off between some houses.

After only a short distance, it ends at a gate into a field.
It it isn’t locked – and beside it – the welcome sight of a public footpath sign, and a nettle clad kissing gate.

The clear, rambling path inclines beyond, looking delicious and inviting under the moody grey skies, and I can feel a rising excitement at having discovered this new prospect.

The views over the town as it climbs into the woodland beyond will be magnificent, and what will happen to the path when it reaches the woods? Is there a magical land in there somewhere? Almost certainly…

It couldn’t harm to have a short wander up it, just to get the cut of it’s gib?

On first inspection of the way ahead however, one of the most notable features is this horse, standing directly across the pathway.

As the clouds above darken, the horse looks at me, and says the following:

“neehiiiwwwwwwbllllthwth”

This is accompanied by some world class nostril flaring and a violent shake of its head.

Now, I am not generally one to start an argument with a horse, and neither am I conversant in their native tongue. But this particular neehiiwwwbllthwth – does not sound welcoming.

It sounds, in fact, a little unhinged.

As it eyes me, it stomps back and forth on the path, emitting further inexplicable sounds that speak of hunger? heartbreak? calls for backup?

Its sentiments are unclear, but it very much wishes to keep expressing them – and it also seems determined to keep its wild pacing entirely confined to the actual footpath.

I survey my options.

I have flimsy summer trousers on and the nettles around the kissing gate pretty much cover the passable area.

I could climb over the gate on the one side, which would mean I could walk over the tussocky ground beside the horse, rather than up the actual pathway.

I would normally do this in a heartbeat, but my low energy week has raised caution on the grounds of my perpetually questionable balance and co-ordination.

Okay, look, its just a horse – it will probably get straight out of the way the minute I come near.

The ground beneath the main gate is very muddy, but I’m not scared of a bit of mud, so I tentatively slide the latch back.

The horse looks around at me slowly like the locals in The Slaughtered Lamb.

It lets out another brief neehiiwwblllthwth, but remains still.

I take a few experimental steps beyond the gate into the mud.

The horse begins to sidle, and I think it’s fair to say I’ve never seen a horse sidle before, along the pathway towards me.

It is trying to creep up on me…in plain sight.

Apparently, it is labouring under the delusion that it is completely camoflauged from my view if it stays close to the stone wall, and then behind some low bushes.

It stops a few metres from me. Puts its front hooves onto a rocky outcrop to raise its head as though for an announcement.

“whhhiiiibbbbbbrrrrrbbbblllllthwth” It says.

Okay. It’s taking a slightly different tone now.

With apparent nonchalance, I return to the other side of the gate and softly close it.

We stand, eyeballing each other, as still darker clouds gather in the sky above.

A song thrush flutes some clear melodies from the woodland beyond, and as I look toward it, a buzzard skims the canopy, not more than fifty metres away.

It is slowing, and it is so close that I am in awe of its size. I can see the patterns on the underside of its wings as they stretch wide, and then suddenly it lowers its landing gear, and I see the agile talons descend, soft thick leg feathers above them.

I am spellbound by watching its descent, and keep my eyes on the trees as a light drizzle begins to fall.

A short time later it suddenly arises from some low branches, mighty wings a brilliant russet brown against the deep greens, and it takes to circling the field below the woodland, across the footpath and the houses, soaring on the rising breeze.

I notice another, possibly its mate, much higher on the thermals, and I wonder if there are fluffy buzzard chicks high in a nest somewhere, being provisioned by their hunting parents.

My friend the horse, meanwhile, has now approached nearly to the gate, and he keeps looking between me and the path behind him.

“wwwrrrrhhhhrrrrreeeeethawibble” He says, standing close to me whilst snorting in the direction of the pathway.

I agree with him, it seems wisest.

He then walks around the outside of the gate to a short bit of fence on the other side, still wibblefuffing and shaking his head, and proceeds to fix me most deliberately with an expression I can only describe as disappointed belligerence.

I like horses – they are magnificent beasts – but it has to be said that my new friend is either working through some fairly major issues, or he is a few oats short of a flapjack.

I realise that I have been simply standing now for a while, watching the horse, watching the buzzards, listening to the birds and the insistent swish of the wind in the bushes.

It is beautiful here, I am calmed, distracted.

It is okay for the pathway to beguile me from afar today.

(See Walking diaries – stolen streamside solace – another short nature intervention that saved my day)

I am about to start retracing my wandering steps to the car when the horse’s incredible vocal range seems to reach a new crescendo, and I spy a band of his cronies arriving from the corner of the field.

Is this what he has been waiting for? Was he separated from his gang?

The new arrivals don’t seem quite as unhinged as my colourfully quilted friend, but overall, it has to be said, they are a rough crew.

There is a bit of argy-bargy and foot stomping when they greet each other, and horse number one immediately recruits one of its fellows to come and stand on the footpath and reinforce its menacing looks.

A white horse stands unnervingly still a few metres away from me, stares into my eyes with soul-searching directness, and executes an enormous dump.

I try not to take this personally.

The distant cries of the buzzards are still audible, and the wind becomes brisker, buffeting the trees around me, and threading whispers through the lower grasses of the field.

I walk down the farm path smiling, a fine mist of drizzle adorning my hair.

Every drop of rainy freshness, of greenery, is a balm, and I allow myself to be momentarily lost in the heady scent of a clambering honeysuckle.

Today I stood and watched. I breathed, I absorbed.

And I laughed at a peculiar horse.

It was enough.

My energy isn’t magically restored, but my mood is lifted.

Thank you, horse.

But be warned. I’ll be back.

And next time that path is mine.

Link to walking diaries posts…