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This morning I walked around the perimeter of the field by the disused phonebox and in service postbox, through Honeylake Wood,
and back across the slender ribbon footpath that will soon be obscured by the farmer’s crops.
Oak trees are among the latest to bear leaves, but those beyond the field are beginning to burgeon.
The occasional light aircraft droned overhead; my feet rustled the driest surface that I have experienced through the wood; and harsh squawks of pheasants lent dissonance to the sweeter notes of smaller birds. Otherwise, all was quiet.
Water in the downward sloping ditch often reaches this moss-covered trunk.
Celandines carpet its somewhat dehydrated banks,
and the normally sodden undulating footpath leading up to the bridge over the stream had no inclination to inhale my shoes.
Smaller trees, like this birch, have been left straddling the path
from which ramblers are not encouraged to stray.
As readers will know, we are not far from the sea. Many unsheltered trees are bent into shape by the force of the prevailing winds.
This evening we dined at Lymington’s Lal Quilla where, although it was very busy, we received the usual warm welcome and excellent food. My choice was lamb Taba Shashlik Jalfrezi with pilau rice and a share of onion bhaji and egg paratha. We both drank Kingfisher.
The sun was just thinking about setting as we emerged into the High Street.