Wandering and Pondering

I throw on my coat, pop on my tweed cap, close the door and the dog and I head out. The air is cool and has the lingering smell of wood smoke from the various log burners here abouts. It is good jacket weather.  

I love this time of year. Any season that is synonymous with baked goods and cardigans is always going to be my favourite. It makes me think about sharp blackcurrant crumbles (with cream not custard, my personal preference), chilly evening walks and buying new stationery for the school year – fortunately I don’t need to go to school any more but the desire for new exercise books and highlighters remains.

We head down the road, the dog sniffing then re-sniffing every important item as we go. I’ve got my eyes peeled for the changes in nature as the season ticks over. Things like ripe apples about to fall and the leaves on the maple tree in the garden of the house on the corner drifting from acid green, through gentle yellow to burning red.

There are delicious blackberries on the brambles, too. I’ve been watching the supply go down as hungry fingers, beaks and claws have at them.

Walking a dog every day has lots of benefits (even if it does mean being out in the pouring rain sometimes). One that I enjoy a great deal is that you are out in nature to see all of the little changes in the environment. I like to think of it as being out and about to listen to the world’s clock; as if the world were a huge Grandfather clock, the swinging weight adding rhythm and pace to everything that is going on. Like the beat of feet and paws falling into lock step on a long walk.

The dog and I wander past the vets and onto the foot path that runs alongside several large fields. The modern cycle of cropping and harvest has been at play here. Big ridges pattern the red clay earth. We walk to the spot where you can see the Iron Age Hillfort and I let my mind drift, pondering what the ancients might think about the world today. The sycamores around the base of the hill are already barley-straw gold at the top.

The clouds promise rain so we turn on our heels and head for home. I nod hello to a jenny wren and a female blackbird as we go. I miss seeing the swifts and swallows dancing in the sky. We put on a spurt of speed as rain drops pitter patter the path and leaves around us.

Home feels so much warmer after a trip out in the late September air. I towel off the dog and give her a treat as she is no fan of being towel-dried. I hang up my heavy dog walking coat (heavy with three different types of dog treat, many poo bags of assorted colours and a small collection of tennis balls) and turn the kettle on. I ponder the ancients who had lived on/in/near the hillfort down the road. They, surely, would have been enjoying the warmth and safety of their homes after taking care of the business of the day – admittedly they wouldn’t have been having instant decaffeinated coffee and a bit of shortbread. I wonder what the neolithic warming drink of choice was? I’m sure that they’d have had a little dog friend or two close by, too. The dog and I retire to a comfy chair with my cup of coffee and our shortbread biscuit. My mind is full of the how the world ticks along and how lucky I am to be able to go for a walk with my dog and watch it happen. Her mind is entirely full on the hope of having some of the shortbread biscuit.