A few mornings ago I awoke to a sight I hadn’t seen much of over here in Sussex, England this month — blue sky and sun. So, after some coffee and toast (with peanut butter), I grabbed by camera and headed out into the garden. Time to commune with the flowers and the bees.
It was good to get out for a long walk this morning after the festivities of New Year’s Eve. The sun shone and I grabbed my camera, heading out to the Bedelands in Burgess Hill, West Sussex near my home. It was early and aside from a few early bird dog walkers, I had the forest and fields pretty much to myself.
I did a lot of moving around last year — three different flats in North London, West London and Sussex, two weeks in Canada, six weeks in Morocco, a week in France… don’t get me wrong, I LOVE moving around. I’m a Sagittarian after all. But some of my good habits went out the window with this peripatetic life — especially my morning jog. Now, I’m not a runner — I am a very slow jogger. I’d be an annoying jogging partner to anyone who wants to feel the burn. But jogging at a tortoise’s pace, rather than a hare’s is okay by me. It makes me feel good. I listen to the birds, breathe in the fresh air and enjoy the sun — or wind — or, most likely in England, rain — on my face.
Now that I’ve settled, for the time being at least, in a pretty rented flat in Sussex, with a park just outside the backyard, and with the dawning of the new year, I figured it was high time to dig out those “good shoes” of my blog title and stretch my legs around the park. So far, so good. For the past week I’ve been working my way up to 10 times around the park (up to 7 now) without stopping. And I’ve been reminded of the perks of being out early on a frosty winter morning.
Good morning, sunshine! And a Happy New Year to you too.
It was a lovely autumn day today — sunny and a bit chilly, the sky a crisp blue and the grass damp with dew. The flowers are showing their last flashes of colour before the frost, and I had to get out to take some photos.
I was walking down the sidewalk in Brighton when I heard the jingle of bells. Yes, like jingle bells. But it’s May in England, so it wasn’t Santa. No, no, no. As I walked along the sound grew louder. I turned a corner and there they were — Morris dancers. In full regalia, congregated in front of a old Sussex pub, drinking beer, tuning their fiddles, and jingling.
They were from Guernsey, and they knew their stuff. Beers down, they picked up their fiddles, accordions, guitars, drums and tambourines, and, jingle bells tied to their knees, they twirled and line-danced, flicked white hankerchiefs and bashed sticks in a centuries’ old English folk dance ritual hailing spring.
The crowd grew, drawn by the music, and the shouts and growls of the forest monsters.
Just a typical spring day in Merrie Olde Englande.
The sun finally came out today after two weeks of chilly damp drizzle. It was time to grab my camera and head out to the Victorian Margravine Cemetery just around the corner from my flat and see what Spring has been doing there.
I think I spent the day in one of the most beautiful places in the world today.