Here We Go Again!

Two ageing men are slowly making their way along a muddy footpath through a wood. We haven't seen them for a while. But at last good weather and reasonable health have aligned themselves making a short walk in the country a possibility. Or perhaps a necessity.

And what amazing tourist attraction have we chosen to visit after all this time? Nothing less than a few neglected and forgotten meadows that lie nestled between a busy village and some large arable fields, not far from Cambridge.

Having missed out on the delights of snowdrops, cowslips, wood anemones and bluebells this year, we can at least go to pay our respects to the wild orchids that flower on Fulbourn Fen; they always appear somewhat later in the year than those other beauties.

Even though I've seen wild orchids most years, I'm still compelled to kneel down to view these little flowers close-up. This year I've even remembered to bring along a lens designed to get us even closer. Would you like to see an angel?

Did those medieval craftsmen, who fashioned the wooden angels that soar among the roof-bosses and hammerbeams of our oldest churches, have these tiny flowers in mind as they created their art?

I've often heard that in heraldry the fleur-de-lys design is based on the wild iris (or yellow flag) flowers.

And the Tudor rose always puts me in mind of these humble blooms of the bushes and hedgerows.

This narrow and rather uneven boardwalk, that crosses one of the wetter parts of the fen, is one of my favourite stretches of path, though it can be tricky to pass anyone coming the other way. The only thing to do is to step off the path and hope that you don't sink down too far!

We'll carry on a bit further to where (I hope) there are some large logs which will make a useful seat where we can sit in the sun for a while before wandering back.

There's not an enormous amount of walking to be done here, but that doesn't matter at all - all is peace and tranquility and it's just a wonderful place to linger and loiter, having lazed on those left-behind logs. 

So it was that Les lingered and loitered, while I crouched and composed, as we threaded our way back through the orchid meadows.

So on we plodded down the muddy track, as much like the two little boys that we once were, as the two older men that we have inexplicably become. The only real difference being that now we step carefully around the puddles instead of splashing straight through. At least we've learned something!

Take care.

Many thanks to all those of you who've sent encouraging messages and kept me entertained with your blogs and photos. It has really helped.