It rained for much of the night and all of the morning, with clouds so dark one didn't know it when sunrise actually happened but local news spoke of further flood warnings. Fields that I had seen which were waterlogged already were no doubt more so. Here at the house the water covered the large patio areas all the way up to the door and even the tall legged dog seemed reluctant to pad across the paving, imagine the problems the two miniature dachshunds faced with tender underbellies so very much closer to the ground. Of the birds there was hardly a sign, even they were not venturing out in the downpour. But ... eventually the skies cleared and the sun appeared and the whole garden was suddenly a hive of aerial activity especially around the many bird feeders here.
We didn't get out for a walk until late afternoon (wearing wellies, good job too). A footpath from an old Nissan hut was just full of boot, dog & Muntjac prints. Fields were full of water mirrors reflecting the by now rather lovely fenland sky and it was quite mild, but within a few yards from the car, itself parked in part puddle, part mud the two of us were splattered with dark slush stripes. The mutt's belly was dripping, I was splattered with it even above the tops of my wellies and I almost fell base over apex a few times.
The drainage dykes were full of water, the sedge stems a pale biscuit colour and branches of all the deciduous trees bare, but to my delight and surprise the wild briars were full of the cheery scarlet brightness of ripe rosehips. I had thought the birds would have eaten them. As for sloes, very few ... no wonder only the night before Dad & I had enjoyed sloe gin made by a friend. She had made large amounts as presents and good it was too "Hic!"
In the distance I could see what looked like a rather active dark figure of a scarecrow, I was intrigued. When we got to the end of the dividing dyke, with water logged fields either side, it became clear.
He had been digging small drainage channels from his fields to the dykes that criss-cross the fens and certainly they are much needed this year. He was still busy as we left the fen.
I walked back through a farm, the outbuildings of which were quite clearly built during war time. It was quite sad to walk past, looking through the open doors to see long disused animal byres and pens, a farmer who now totally relies on his arable yields.
The footpath joined the main road where there is a cemetery and the church on the other side of the road. With now darkening eastern skies the bare branched willow trees caught my eye. I just love the way they seem to cascade with grace down towards the ground.
In contrast to the deepening skies on one side of the road, across on the other side, looking over the ploughed fields, a glorious sunset was forming and the fens were lit with a mild golden glow which seemed warm, though the air was already beginning to get chilly.
We walked along the slushy verge back towards where the car was parked near the dilapidated old Nissan hut, the dog with his nose to the ground, me with an eye on the overhead display. I took quite a few photographs, but I like the contrast between the cascading willows and these starkly silhouetted "reach for the sky" branches and a stump.
We returned, both of us splashed with dark fenland mud but happier for our outing.
The local weather forecast is for yet more of the wet stuff heading our way tomorrow.
But ... it's not just us but the forecast for the whole of U.K is full of warnings of floods, gales and also further north, snow. In the Cornwall & Devon areas, even risk of landslides.
So a bit of mud on the mutt and me is not much to moan about really!
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