Country Interlude

Walked with the dogs at the weekend round the fields I see from my study, before resting half way, sitting quietly on a stile. Suddenly something breathed into my ear and pressed my shoulder. I jumped up to find a horse with its head in my face. It had been the other side of the meadow when I sat down, and I hadn’t thought more about it. 

Horsey in his field

He lives in the seven acre meadows beyond my window. The people who own it break horses, and I watch them leading their young mounts in circles on halter training. Later they graduate to the bridle and saddle, and are led past our house for their road work, ready for their new owners. The grey is one of two older horses, used perhaps to lead the young ones. The land is prime building land, and NIMBY-like I hope it is not sold for development, or instead of looking out on a meadow with spring hares dancing, and deer upon the hill, I will look out on a field of small cramped brick housing and smell the fumes of commuters.

Then, turning round, a bunch of blackberries thrust themselves into my face. Almost an inch across, dripping with juice and honey sweet, they fell into my mouth at the lightest touch. Sometimes country living has good rewards.