This must be how birds feel

Saturday was crisp and frosty with with a heart achingly blue sky. We packed a lunch, wrapped ourselves and the dog up and we headed for the hills.

I am always interested in what and why folk feel the need to leave some sort of 'mark' of their passing.
Sometimes it is a pre-painted rock - the type that seemed to flourish during the pandemic and now is almost endemic around the country. Stickers are increasingly common on road signs or gates. I was amused by the upside down sugar skull until I took a closer look and saw it was actually the right way up! 

My favourite I have to admit is this one .... SHEEEP! I wondered if the farmer who painted this was either distracted half way through and when he returned just continued without realising - or, if he wrote it as if he was yelling at the drivers who bomb through this open bit of moorland road with out even heeding the grazing ewes and their lambs. Who knows....

Moss of course threw herself into her walk - collecting sticks along the way regularly  'upgrading' until the stick was too large to 'dog-handle' along the narrow woodland path. She 'dog-fully' and doggedly dragged it some distance before discarding it for a very much smaller piece.

Alongside the path, I spotted at eye height, the sweetest and most exquisite nest made entirely of moss with a snowy centre. It seemed so exposed and vulnerable, but I suspect when the hawthorn is in full leaf, the nest would be magically invisible and it's contents safe.

There was frost encrusted winter debris all through the woodland which crunched and crackled beneath our feet.

On the far edge of the woods, where the trees thinned and the landscape felt ancient, we stopped for a mug of tea and watched brick red beef heifers graze and browse amongst the birch and hawthorn. They gradually surrounded us, occasionally lifting their huge shaggy heads to balefully glare however they never encroached or threatened us and we in return sat quietly and respectfully.

On the other side of the thin trees we arrived on the rolling ridges of the Dales. The thin blue icy sky felt high and brittle and oh so beautiful. It surrounded us, covered us and elated us.

This must be how birds feel when they fly.

We followed the higher path to the edge of the sunlight then dropped back into the valley, we had to return to the van before the sun slipped behind the hills taking with it the thin warmth we were holding on to.

Once back, we cracked on the kettle and curled cold hands around steaming mugs, ate digestive biscuits and watched the last of the light fade. These days fill my soul and clear my head.

#ichigoichie