WINCHESTER WALK

Slipping seaward,
Limpid water.
Long weeds streaming
Over chalky shallows.
Dabchicks dive,
While daredevil swifts,
Aerial acrobats,
Crazily winging
In wide arcs swinging,
Dip to the river and lift.
But we see no swallows
As we follow the shady path
Beside the sliding water.

At last and until
We reach the gate
To wend our way up
St Catherine’s Hill.

All over the blackthorn
Along the rutted track,
Sloes are showing
Fat and dull, blue-black.

Soon a footbridge
Over the motorway
Scene of battles bitter
To save a landscape.

[Protestors lived
Up in the trees
Even Middle England
Was ill at ease.]
Because of the rape
Of Twyford Down.

They tore through the chalk
Now traffic tears through.
[It assaults our ears too.]
Tearing, jarring, snarling sound,
In these sunny fields around.

So many objections to no avail.
Commonsense did not prevail.
Brave protesters at last went home,
But the instigators of that crime
Had their names, for all time,
Carried on a single, standing stone.

We pause to read,
Then stand amazed
That someone with power
Sowed the seed.
Thousands on thousands
Of English wild flower,
Blossoming now,
A mille fleur tapestry,
Colourful as millefiori!

In stark contrast
The golf course grass
Is uniformly green,
Close shaven.

We cross and halt
To drink beneath
A spreading beech,
Our shady haven!
Sharing our bottles
Each with each.

Our guide encourages
Up the next climb.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,
You’ll be fine!”
But it’s HOT
And this time, for us,
It’s stony, long
And hard as it looks!

Yet butterflies thrill us
With their beauty,
As we view again
The ancient city,
Where once ruled
Our cruel Norman King.

Retracing steps, a shaded track
At first, on our way back.
Then mushrooms, beckoning!
“Dinner plates” in the grass
Tempt us to pick as we pass.
Reluctant now to climb
And gather them,
So tell ourselves,
“Could be maggots in them.”

And an apple tree holds early bounty,
So we go scrumping fruit a-plenty.

Ducks are a-dabbling in the river,
A moorhen’s chick cheeps to its mother,
Who brings another twig for her nest,
Riding the ripples on weedy water.

Aargh! What’s this?
A mad, wet sheepdog pushes past,
Jumps into the stream, so fast!
Bites the splashes,
Paddles and crashes,
In and out and BARKS!
‘Till finally she THOROUGHLY shakes
Over her owner as he waits
Where our cars are parked.

Thus grateful for our good walk done,
We thank our guide and make our way home.
1st AUGUST 2007