Hail strike on the driveway sends me back indoors to retrieve waterproofs. I mean to walk around the lanes but find myself at the gate to the woods. A few times the steep mud path slides me faster than expected; there is barbed wire suddenly underfoot, a rotten trunk thumps the ground after I reach to hold it. Overhead that bright green canopy sways, lets melt water pelt down my neck. Bluebells stand surprised by the invasion of ice chips. Churned up river runs mud-brown, is feverishly swollen. Sun warmth brings everything from its shivering. A woodpecker echoes. From the crumble of wall, I observe the detail of reflection in the quarry pool. The illusion is so perfect: I could jump in, climb those trees.
In the heat of walking home I also stop, take off my jumper, stand for a moment, amazed.