The mud is heavy, claggy. A steady squelch underfoot. The three of us exploring a little woodland that my wife knows well. We are a running late and the light is fading a little already. The small glades off the main path are carpeted with bright red and orange leaves (and an amazing array of fungus).
Autumn colours in full force.
Back on the path we pick our way through the mud until we find a better path. Violet skipping along until we get back to the car just before dusk.
Out for a walk on new years day, through the community woodland behind the cottage and then down over the rolling fields to the next village for a pint and some soup. On the way back we stopped by this old trunk which had been brought down by some ivy, now slowly rotting away, providing a new habitat and compost for the hedgerow.
Sometimes it’s not about getting away into the wilds, but about just getting round the corner. Near the cottage there’s a little lane, which turns into a wet path that’s more of a muddy stream at this time of year. If you go over the narrow bridge there’s all kinds of mushrooms. And it’s as relaxing a place as you could want to be.