What is it in the potent experience?

Of that strange habit country walking,

That can inspire such great a passion

And play upon the senses with so much feeling?

 

Whether it be bright and clear

Or dull and cold,

Rain or shine; far or near

It seems there are myriad beauties to unfold.

 

For those whose heart beats in time

With Mother Earth’s heaving bosom,

All life; all world; all things; are sublime

When immersed in rural perambulation.

 

Walking stirs the circulation

Invigorates the body and makes it whole,

It inspires the mind; frees the spirit

And regenerates the soul!

 

Out there we can breathe the free air

Absorb its freshness and relish its purity,

We can move with its ease, float without a care

Think with its clarity and live with its vitality.

 

So; go and seek out the countryside

Enjoy the landscape of pastoral scenes,

Stroll across fields and climb hillsides

Wander through woods and ford streams.

 

Rove around fences and hedges

Thread the labyrinth of lanes and farms,

Clamber over stiles and squeeze through gates.

Duck below shady boughs and peek in barns.

 

Wade through ferny glens

Tred stony tracks up fells,

Stumble over tussocky heathlands

And march down sandy paths in dells.

 

Push far into the wild places

Roam over hills and heather clad moors,

Scramble up mountains and scale bold crags

Stride out along lofty ridges and rocky tors.

 

Out there all things are fair

Close to nature in the raw,

Even foul weather brings its share

Of splendour and spectacle to put on show.

 

The hint of the damp earth climes

From dappled shade beneath green branches,

The rich scent of the pines

From eerie gloom in conifer forests.

 

The heady perfume of the blossom

And sweet breath of the briar,

The fragrance of long grasses

And hint of wild garlic lingering in the air.

 

Soft rain landing on leaves

Hard rain dripping from trees,

Sharp hail hitting the face

Snowfall quietly hiding all trace.

 

The vast open tracts

Where the gale always blows,

Far flung peat hags with reeds and rushes

Hiding away in damp squidgy hollows.

 

Harsh wind pummelling the body

Sheltering behind draughty stone walls,

Grey sullen sheets of rain and clag

Damp rolling mists and sleety squalls.

 

Flooded mud rutted by-ways

Leading into slurry swamped bields,

A churned up quagmire round the gates

Of so many muck covered fields.

 

The fiddle to reach stiff iron latches

Then heavy twisted gates to lift,

Or fumble with the frayed coloured string,

Before rotten rickety wicket to shift.

 

Then the dogs start barking

Straining on their rattling chains,

Their vicious growling and snarling

Clamouring all round the sheds and pens.

 

Feeling lost between the old stone barns

Timidly looking for a little yellow arrow,

This way is blocked by thicket of thorns

And that by rusty old tractor and barrow.

 

Massive corrugated dairy shed

Erected “Atcost” across the public footpath,

So right of way diverted round the yard

Through slurry pond and atrocious mud bath.

 

Our green and pleasant land is over-grazed

Once verdant hills are scarred by sheep trod lines,

Woods and hedgerows are wildly overgrown

Ringed with barbed wire and angry signs.

 

Yet there is still always to come

The thrill of the view after a hard climb,

The trill of birdsong making the air sing

And the rush of the game-bird taking to wing.

 

The charm of an idyllic village scene

The peace of an old stone church with yews,

The magic of wildflowers by the wayside

The enchantment of tumbling waterfalls.

The flash of a butterfly

The glint on a stream,

The arc of a rainbow

And slant of the sunbeam.

 

The crack of hard ice

The crunch of crisp snow,

The bite of chill frost

And the warmth of the sun’s glow.

 

The sting of the sly nettle

And the prick of the bramble claw,

The soothe of the lush meadow

And lull of the rivers deep steady flow.

 

All part of the experience

All moments of life

All aspects of nature,

 

All part of the joys

All pieces of the picture

Of country walking!