Summer Camp Wood?
Rolling with the ages along the Fosse way’s trail – forever straight and to the point,
Picturesque are the settlements decked with flowers – waxing lyrical canvases to self-anoint!
Chasing rainclouds a calling – towards the horizon – bobbing and weaving over Cotswold Hills,
Summer sunshine smiling – painting a glow of the scene – memory guides us – admiring the fills!
There’s a time honoured welcome with a brother in arms – with the raising of a morning toast,
Generations are growing with the passage of time – in the cake baker it shows the most!
Vibrant purple resplendent along the Clematis wall – where the Fig Tree swells with fruit,
Detail plundered from the face of the map – with a planning confirmed that’s best to suit!
There’s a Red Kite swooping over Conifer Trees – low like an omen to wish on our day,
With the clock’s tick against us – we gather our leave – destination defined – sees us on our way!
White Horse Hill carpark shaping a bowl – with the shading of trees and its subtle bays,
Where memories race with adventure to chase – where pinpricks spotlight the sunlit rays!
The elegance of the Corn Flowers powered in blue – wander with the thistles and wafts of grass,
On the verges of the chalk road with the wild Geraniums – dancing in the breeze as we pass!
With the reach of its end – we set foot on the Ridgeway – where panoramic views fit into place,
The decades of memories brings a tear to the eye – and the heartbeat it picks up the pace!
Daisies and Buttercups blend with the Hawthorn – aside the Ridgeway’s ribbon of rise and fall,
Onward of the journey one step at a time – with the surrounding wheat fields standing tall!
Stepping from the Ridgeway – we enter Wayland Wood – with its welcoming shaded shroud,
Memories clothed with echoes – a recital of melodies – close and personal – loud and proud!
Moments of history – come and go with the flow – where hammocks hung around in the round,
The musings are good – where the Totem poles stood – where the leaves now line the ground!
Flashbacks of Woodhenge the gathering of friends – the drums they rumbled – generations played,
Bonds they were formed – as the energy warmed – where connection grew and Oaths were made!
The Lady in the Tree – is there for all to see – standing in the corner taking pride of place,
With the viewing explored and the memory stored – retiring to the Ridgeway at a gentle pace!
Out into the Sunlight we cross to the gate – where Wayland’s Smithy stands in wait,
We head down the path watching a Buzzard swirling – riding the thermals in a heightened state!
The entrance opens out like picture frame – behold the Barrow – swaddled in a circle of Beech,
Singing with the voices of the Ancestors – the wind through the tree tops in all their reach!
The Stones rest with grace confirming a constant – like the eternal spiral of a bygone age,
Baring the scars of old – the elemental fold – like a full-stop ending on an ancient page!
A Picnic breaks out – on the stroke of lunch – in the shade of the Beech at the Barrow’s end,
Caressed by the moment – a pooling of calm – content in the company of a life-long friend!
Engulfed in the stream of the golden years – memories come and go – reflecting with a smile,
Like a home from home – for those who roam – excuse me for a moment if I drift a while!
Dragonflies have flittered and shared with our path – in the sun that lights the day,
Butterflies in their multitude do their flutter-byes – a backdrop of shimmering colour display!
With the Buzzards and Crows – riding the wind as it blows – nature in bloom as the season grows,
The Pigeons have done – what the Pigeons they do – while the Songbirds sing in their formal prose!
With sustenance gained the picnic is over – with our party rising to find their feet,
With a thoughtful meander we enclose our circle – around the chamber and leave discreet!
Remembering the Holly that has long since gone – we take a few images for free,
The magic of the memory is never forgotten – centuries onward – It lives with you and me!
There’s a welcome return – to Wayland Wood and its shade – as we follow a leaving trail,
Walking its length we re-join of the Ridgeway – and on to the telling of the crossroads tale!
Our party there divides – Into two by two – checking the map for fixtures in a tide of lines,
Past the Artist’s Cottage with its windmill turning – we walk on by as we follow the signs!
On past the Barn that’s no longer there – sharing in a memory of Mice and Straw,
Weaving through the ruts and the scatter of stones – beside the fields we’ve walked before!
Admiring the Farmhouse in its cluster of Trees – far from the throng of the madding crowds,
Out into the open with a restructured path – an extended view – of white curly wisps of clouds!
Footfall by footfall – we wander faded tracks – through edging wildflowers – Butterflies and Bees,
The Buzzards circle high upon the distant rises – way above the rambling fields and Trees!
A wide bed of long grasses – climb within the shadings – holding the moisture of the recent rains,
Beside the Woodland strips – where imagination trips – among the rolling tumble fields of grains!
We admire Compton’s bottom with it square of trees – with its wrapping arm around the crop,
Looking old and ancient – a sanctuary for wildlife – where the deadwood gathers about its drop!
Wood Pigeons scatter in a sprayed disturbance – checking their bearings as they fly away,
The Horizon beckons with its rise and fall – sun kissed in the moment – adventure leads the way!
The Bridleways converge on a crossroads in the end – where we afford ourselves a breath of air,
Taking in the landmarks and the choice of paths – paying attention to detail in the duty of care!
Rolling down the carpet prepared in advance – with its chalk and flint – sand and shells,
Giving in to a hint like a vapour trail – where destiny calls – taking in the sights and smells!
Investigation encounters a fate full of nettles – with a gentle parting like restful seas,
A golden leaf-lined floor with its shaded Beech – calling to the hope-full from within the trees!
Passing by the rest of a casual gather – of Sarsens strewn and dressed with age,
The contorted Beech they clump in clusters – shaping beautiful forms they highlight the stage!
Curiosity casts a gaze into far off corners – with contours rippling from North to South,
A throw back in time and a puzzle’s answer – a distant voice – spread by word of mouth!
Sarsens hiding in the shallows – crawling free of fields – making mounds all here and there,
Some worked by hand – some marked by time – tactile and magnificent – and all are free to share!
Pockets they peep – In the shadows deep – in private quarters for a personal twist,
Laced with Hawthorn and random Hazel fronds – a covering of Beech nuts in its midst!
Robin he sings – to these human things – dancing hither and thither to gain another view,
While the mind of the practical man – formulates a loose plan – for the idle minds to do!
There’s a recent casualty and a head-long Beech tree – still in leaf it rests its head,
Prostrate across the lie of the Woodland floor – with a fine rosette of fungus in its stead!
The footprint of its root – It clings to life – with a pulp of chewed up white of flesh,
Sinews grasping at the earth – to feed its leaves – with its gaping open wound so fresh!
Comfy in contentment – with ear to ear smiles – we enter in retreat,
Exploring circumference we head for the trail – like an echo to repeat!
Doorway after doorway brings a different scene – as the vision takes shape and form,
Growing in the consciousness and filling of the senses – while the Sun is oh so warm!
Supply routes pondered with a winter view – where the glisten of light climbs the hill,
With an alternative ending we take to the trail – with a hind-sight eclipsed in the still!
Hypothetical murmurings grasp a firmer path – and here the going’s good,
The possibilities are endless – an open book – with History repeating as it should!
A Rabbit’s gone in a puff of dust – a pair of Roe Deer panic in the edge of the wheat,
We are flanked for a while by a holding of trees – feeling the effect on our feet!
A Skylark appears for a one-off performance – a Kestrel leads us over the rise,
Reaching of the top – we pause for a while – and watch a Buzzard grace the skies!
Reminiscence leads us onward in a round of tales – when we met the smoulder of a fire,
Tucked out of the way to glow in the breeze – freely drifting – smoking – climbing higher!
Chalk firms the footing with its beads of flint – with an even surface and a trail of dust,
On past the Farm and its concrete yard – a view of the hill-fort – an encouraging must!
Finally we step into the final furlong – at the end of the straight there stands a gate,
Testing out our eyesight – a long range vision – where our original party congregate!
With a gathering collection – sharing adventure’s recollection – as the parties meet as one,
Little Raven ads to her Snail shell collection – with two yellow and brown spirals calmly done!
The Ice Cream Van calling in silent volumes – trapped in the safety of the car-park bowl,
Where White Horse Hill is but a stroll away – but never this journey’s goal!
Recovery takes its ease upon the grassy bank – with a long old drink and a reflective glance,
Ice Creams demolished by those with the need – shaded from the Sun a happy happenstance!
Dissolving into the view – as in the past I used to do – a constant in a world of change,
Intrigued is Little Raven as I play with my notes – as I ponder on and plot their re-arrange!
A like-minded spirit who likes to paint with words – extending a story beyond its plan,
The sharing of our Tales – puts the wind in your sails – as only imagination can!