Leaving the others asleep in their pits early this morning, Jackie and I took a drive into the forest in the vicinity of Burley.
Bluebells are cropping up on all the verges.
As I disembarked to photograph a stream and its reflections, a mallard shot under the bridge at a rate of knots leaving its wake serrating the surface of the water.
I exchanged waves with a bunch of cyclists while I prepared to cross to the other side of the road
in order to photograph fallen trees, their reflections, and banks of primulas, celandines, and violets,
all of which flourished beneath my feet.
I was hampered somewhat in photographing a large fallen tree with its tangled lichen-laden limbs still bearing fresh foliage. As I framed the shot the driver of the car decanting children, their Dad, and their bikes, clearly intending to ensure a bout of photobombing, reversed the necessary couple of metres. We indulged in friendly conversation and I wished the male members of the party an enjoyable ride as the mother drove away, leaving the track clear for us.
We returned home via Holmsley Passage alongside which a pair of ponies turned their backs on
a family group of cyclists on hired bikes as they struggled up the hill. The woman who towed the little trailer was not young. I don’t know about her, but I was mightily relieved when a gentleman changed places with her. We thought it best to pull over and wait until they had climbed their Everest.
This afternoon, Becky, Ian, and Louis returned to Southbourne where the young man was to catch a train back to his home.
This evening we dined on roast lamb, roast potatoes, carrots, and cauliflower cheese with which I drank more of the Merlot Bonarda and Jackie didn’t.