A while back I promised to revisit the ancient oaks when I had some battery life in the camera. So on a rare day of sunshine, and Urchins off school, off we went with a flask of chicken soup and a lucky dip from assorted Easter goodies.
The park has a large and steep grassy bank, and in April is normally redolent of Wordsworthian inspiration. But it has been somewhat chilly of late and Spring has receded. Besides it is a north facing bank. So there was no apparent growth , not even foliage, and the eggs rolled freely, and the path below resembled omelette, a host of golden yolk, paved in broken and painted shell.
But we escaped the eggy throngs and set off into the woods. Mindful of the troll under the bridge we found our way to those trees:
They have witnessed much over the years, and look good for a bit more. The path takes us in to the earthworks, evidence of ancient activity, but there are more across the fence.
It is a tree-huggers paradise, but there are never enough of us to reach even half way round those spectaular girths, so on we walk. The woods were quiet, occasionally a woodpecker would drum out his warning. The wind would spring up from the gorge far below, where the river burbled over the rocky bed and the gruffalo was on the prowl.
In time we reached a fine place to finish the soup, a little warmer for the long trek back. 40 years or so ago you would be chased for resting here:
But it’s a nature reserve now. Though the car park had few spaces left it seems that not too many were able to escape the adventure playground and head for the great outdoors. And when the sun shines, great it certainly is.