Last night, midnight, the windows are ajar; after the rainstorm. We have the urge to breathe that cool earthy damped air.
Morning is hazy, impossible to decipher.
One might as well stride out to find a dragon, in this mysterious weather. We take the long route, enchanted by pastoral views.
The path is a tractor track, bumped and pocked with bird prints. Off track is waist high in the smoking grass pollen. To the riverside is a climb; through barbed wire, nettles, brambles, thistles; over steep muddied slipways.
And if I didn't push through that, I would never know of this fallen tree dragon.
Walk, marvel, make a beautiful life.