Centre Farm

We walked in the cool of the day before the warmth of the sun reached its height and whilst heavy dew oozed through the toes of my sandals. The fields were verdant and green. Lazy cows stood in the shade of the trees and hedges, chewing languidly, no concerns to hasten their day. On a track an old-time farmer guy, clad in work-worn overalls, trundles upwards to check on his stock. I know we will catch up with him on the other side. The best part of the day, warm with a cooling breeze and quiet, too, with only the hum of the distant motorway to interrupt the call of the birds and the soft lowing of cattle in the sheds. Cratch is on lead for this part of the walk, meandering as it does through farmyards and farm tracks. Up ahead a cat is limbering over the stones unaware, as yet, of our presence. Cratch has seen it and with eyes bright and ears pricked he picks up his pace. Leave, I say, and he falls back beside me. The cat, meanwhile, has seen us and stops to stare at us before continuing on. Past Diane`s and the pony is in the stable, easily accessible from the track. We stop to say hello and gentle eyes return my look before returning to the cool of the stable. A notice warns us to watch out for kittens and right on cue, a gorgeous ball of grey fur and long limbs runs across the path in front of us. Dropping down onto the canal, Cratchit heads left as he always does even though we always turn right in order to head for home. There are few folk about at this time of day and although I could give Cratch his liberty, I hold on for a while til be pass the houseboats tied up at Potter`s Brook. In to view ambles a couple and their dogs, one a spaniel the other a Scottie. Cratch is interested in both but only the Scottie returns his interest - with a growl.Unperturbed Cratch continues his greeting until Scottie`s owner calls him back and we continue on our way. Further down we catch up with the old-time farmer as he calls his herd from the banks where they are drinking to the shade of the gateway where he can check them. He sees me smiling as I watch the ancient ways and with a nod of his head he raises his stick in greeting to us. We pass under the trees which provide shelter from the heat of the sun. Usually the path is covered in inches of deep, cloying mud but today it is almost free and I realise, with some surprise, that there is a proper path underneath. Last stretch. As we approach the bridge two herons, like fallen tree trunks with limbs extended upwards, rise from the banks of the canal, startled to see us approach. There are rookeries and heronries along this stretch, lining the bank of the canal. Today it is unusually quiet the youngsters, presumably, already fledged. Along the lane and the flies and the clegs are merciless. Undetectable upon landing; unmissable in leaving. One lands on my shirt and I squish it with a fast, deft sweep of the hand. Another one gets me. In the end it`s 2:1 to me. Game over, we`re home.