May Bush Walk

The air is still and sweet with the smell of hawthorn,
Heavily laced arms hang nonchalantly, boasting an abundance of tiny white flowers, in fields as far as the eye can see.
Spring brides in waiting, joyously hailed by the final bursts of birdsong before the night falls.

A red sky had pulled me from my hearth and home to walk in the last light of the day. The night is filled with drama. As the sun sinks from view animals come to life. Against a deep red backdrop a mare, and her foal, trying to keep up, gallop wildly. Cows crunch noisely, coughing every now and then or moan their deep tones that seem to vibrate through the very ground I walk.

A cat spots my advance and halts eyeing me suspiciously before taking a leap into the undergrowth. Then another... There must be a haunt nearby.

As I round onto a cúl de sac known as Mayo Lane I head for the gap in houses that shows me Corballis Hill. An open field lined neatly and squarely on one side with Hawthorn is a rendezvous for rabbits and I watch the bouncing white bottoms steal away, disturbed by my unexpected presence. It is late. This is their time. I feel I have broken a protocol as I head back towards the road that will take me back to my little house on the crossroads.
I catch sight in a far field of cows playfully tussling and leaping like spring lambs, giddy with the heavily fragrant air of the May Bush.

It's Wednesday. Not a day of any note. Nevertheless, memorable.