There is a saying. Walking is good for the soul. Maybe I have that wrong? Maybe it's not walking? Anyway something is good for the soul, and if it isn't walking it jolly well should be. Especially if the sun is out and there is just a hint of a cooling breeze in the morning air.
It was out this morning, the sun, with an early warmth, and the trembling leaves on the silver birch suggested absolution from the promised heat.
So we walked, Sadie the German Shepherd and I, across the fields of stubble to the lush green meadowed lea beyond. And then we walked some more. Through wooded glade and downland dale we strolled, my loyal friend and I, until we reached, far from home the wild flower banks of a tumbling, burbling, chalk spring.
Side by side we drank together from the cool waters, and sat, refreshed, content in each others peaceful companionship, in quiet contemplation, watching the excited flight of myriad butterflies and the hawking rapidity of lustrous dragonflies. Listening too we were, to the buzz and murmur of natures collectors and propagators, and the occasional splash of a rising trout.
Hunger it was at last, that spurred us to rise and journey homeward. But never rushed. For this was joy in life pure and simple, to be savoured, like the rich and heady aroma of an aged wine. How true it is, my misquoted, poorly remembered saying. Walking is good for the soul.
As I kicked my boots off later, I thought to myself: What a miserable, grumpy old bastard you were yesterday John!