On the edge of wilderness

On the edge of wilderness.

My walking buddy forgot our date this morning, so I headed off round the once-familiar track which has been sadly neglected since Dusty’s demise two years ago tomorrow. (Wow. Two years.) 

I’ve passed that way a few times in the intervening months, but not very regularly and usually with a companion. I notice a lot more when I walk alone.

The logs which were cut months ago still wait to be uplifted, presumably drying but hard to see how in the wet summer weather. Two small hills of asphalt chips which were left over from the road improvement needed to harvest the trees. One giant hill of cow manure – now forgotten by the farmer?

Butterflies abound. The path, pitted with puddles, is losing its definition as fewer people walk that way. The once-well-worn track to the Forest of Endor lies overgrown, abandoned even by the game-keeper who no longer rears pheasants there. 

I loved it. There is something that draws me to wild places, areas ignored and perhaps regarded as wasteland. Living here, surrounded by cultivated fields and busy farmers, yet less than a mile away in two different directions I can be very alone with my Maker. 

Precious.