Walking out of my front door across a short tree line and on to the, now very overgrown, path, and down to the Lugg meadow and river Lugg. The scenery is neither rugged nor pretty. Instead, it has a calm, disorderly beauty that I have come to appreciate; the subtle changes from year to year and season to season are a joy. There are far more thistles, and, butterflies this year. The meadow has been mown. There is a warm breeze; the sweet scent of wildflower grass and hay fills the air.
One of the dole stones on the meadow, marking the land to tell each farmer where his crop ends and another farmer's begins.
Across the river the white farmhouse and the adjoining field of baled wheat waiting to be collected.
Back on my home tree line I can make out Clee Hill, Shropshire in the distance 26 miles away.
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