Weather Report

 

It was warm for November, but there was wind, which caught us every time we started uphill or pulled ourselves over another stile, or tripped on a wobbly piece of wood.

 

I stopped now to smell the air and listen to the silence, conscious that I should try to appreciate the moment. The place we’d reached reminded me of the wood I’d go to when I was about eleven, where I had my first kisses and dreamt about setting up a camp by the stream.

 

A phrase suddenly came into my mind.  

 

There’s a Syrian in my wood.

 

I imagined writing a children’s story along the lines of “There’s a Viking under my bed”, about a girl who comes across a family of refugees from Syria, camping out. Whistle down the wind meets Catweazle.

 

You were trying to remember the name of that other child meets a strange creature story.

 

Stig of the Dump.

 

He was in a hole or something.

 

Stig of the Dump.

 

The little boy found him…

 

Stig of the Dump. It was Stig of the Dump.

 

I realised I didn’t even know what the story was. I could see the illustration of the dirty looking boy on the cover. Had that been Stig? Was that who The Stig was named after on Top Gear?

 

I slipped a bit in the mud.

 

I suppose the fruit’s all gone now.

 

I was thinking vaguely of a scene in the Game of Thrones where the prince only has walnuts to eat but it’s alright because that’s all he eats anyway as we’ve seen previously.

 

There might be a few chestnuts about.

 

So what kind of trees do they come from? They’re not conkers are they?

 

No. Conkers are an entirely different sort of thing altogether. They come from Horse Chestnut trees.

 

And I suppose chestnuts come from conker trees then? Oh, hang on, you just said didn’t you.

 

You laughed. It had been a while since we’d done this. Walked, together, alone, in woods.

 

The cows are all gathered under that tree and they’re lying down.

 

I looked up at the sky. The wind had divided the clouds into varied grey and white blobs. One of the blobs appeared to have landed in a field in the distance. 

 

What’s that?

 

Looks like a couple of swans , you know, getting together. Bit early, but it’s so mild maybe they’ve got confused.

 

I tried to photograph the pair but my iPhone wouldn’t enlarge them enough. They still looked like a white blob.

 

There’s green leaves on that oak -  look.  But there’s another up there that’s nearly lost its leaves.

 

We both thought about why this might be. The one that had lost its leaves was at the top of the small hill. Perhaps it had been more exposed to wind. But it was light that made trees lose their leaves wasn’t it? I wondered if they were just different in the same way that some men go bald and some men don’t.

 

Lets go up to the top.

 

We marched up a slope. I spotted a few mushrooms in the grass. They looked small and nippled. Magic possibly. I didn’t know why that remotely excited me. The last thing my brain needed was added distraction.

 

Crabapples. Scattered on the floor. I wondered if the birds enjoyed them. Plenty to eat this time of year if they were edible.

 

I pondered the animal names we gave things – horse chestnut and crab apple. Did putting an animal name beforehand mean that the plants weren’t edible?

 

We’d had a lovely lie in. We woke at ten then went on a hunt for breakfast in a very clean and tasteful new café in the countryside. All the ingredients had been good quality but I couldn’t finish it. As we went back to the car I wondered if we couldn’t just go for a walk right there and then.

 

But you wanted to find the right spot. So we drove and drove until I couldn’t really place where we were. It reminded me of when we’d first started to date. You’d take me to a new pub each time – driving in the dark. This time of year.

 

That’s wild hop up there.

 

I looked up at the plant. The leaves were delicate and pale green.

 

What are hops anyway? Are they fruit?

 

They’re a flower.

 

I wondered how wild hops differed from the ones used for beer. Whether they were like wild garlic for example.

 

The silence was interspersed with distant explosions. It wasn’t shooting.

 

It’s to scare the birds.

 

But what from? Do they grow things at this time of year? Do birds eat potatoes and parsnips?

 

I remembered the swans, mating in the dampness. The whole Game of Thrones vibe made me think about how you would react if I suggested we have sex, here in the field, with no-one around. I looked at your kind, granite face and knew what you’d say.

 

You wanted to look more closely at the river. Normally I’d mind about diverting all the time because I’d be cold. I wasn’t good at moving about generally.  But I didn’t mind.

 

We walked towards some more cows. One was chewing cud on the opposite bank. It was staring. I looked it directly in the eye and it stopped chewing for a few seconds, like someone had pressed the pause button.

 

False watercress.

 

You pointed at some delicious looking dark green leaves by the river bank. I was thinking that everything on our walk today had been false or not quite right somehow. Promising without being able to deliver.

 

We decided to walk back on the road so we wouldn’t have to retrace our steps. I wanted to retrace our steps but I didn’t say anything. Maybe that was my biggest fault – my lack of desire to speak out and tell people what I really wanted. Maybe I if I wanted something enough it would be said.

 

A hovering bird caught our eye. It had a companion on the ground. At first I thought it was attacking but then realised they were together.

 

Sparrowhawks.

 

They certainly had elegance. One suddenly appeared to our left, across the field, fighting the wind in mid-air. Did they kill sparrows?

 

No cars had passed us yet. We came to a pair of semi-detached cottages. Must be strange living so closely to your neighbours but be so remote. A friendly hello startled us. It came from a middle-aged woman climbing into her car. You pulled me onto the verge.

 

We don’t want to get run over.

 

We listened to crunching gears behind us.

 

It’s ok, she’s going the other way.

 

Her neighbour was on his front drive – he waved at us too, as if we were a boat on the broads, sailing past. I noticed one of those large grass plants just to the side of his house. Did it mean they were swingers? Was that why everyone was so friendly? I thought again about the swans and wondered whether we might be more vulnerable as a pair.

 

The car was up ahead.

 

Phew, I don’t  think I can go on much further.

 

I was just starting to warm up.

 

The car got a bit stuck in the mud as we tried to back out of the clearing.

 

Doesn’t help that I’ve got my hand brake on.

 

I suggested we circle round to the left. Go ahead and not backwards. But you wanted to take a run at it and we made it.

 

I saw some eggs for sale.

 

I’d really like to buy some eggs.

 

 Too late.

 

Why didn’t you say?

 

My theory about wanting something enough had been proven. Perhaps you weren’t expecting me to talk. Or maybe you didn’t recognise the word egg because it wasn’t attached to another completely incongruous word, like biscuit or lobster, wild or false.