As much as I miss the long hot summer days I do love a walk first thing in the morning when the ground is dewy and the sky is blue, when its not too cold so that you have to wear a coat but its cold enough to feel your nose tingling and be snuggled in a big old jumper and wear wellington boots to walk through the long damp grass. I love wellington boots. This morning was that morning.
I walked my normal walk down by the river with the dogs, but we were early this morning, no one was around, no fishermen, no other dog walkers, no joggers...no one, just the birds in the trees and the squirrels scampering around in the orchard, even the sheep and the cows were still lying down and snoozing. The spiders had been busy in the night and their creations of silk stretched between hedges and long grasses the dew droplets glistening like jewels.
The sun wasn't quite up when we walked, it was still burning off the sleepy dust that is the mist over the river and fields.
From behind me it cast my shadow long and almost lean in the grass that's now turning from deep Hooker's green to limey yellow. The smell of wet grass reaches my nose and takes me back to when I was a child. That old damp smell that was always in the back of my Granddad's sheds and workshops, I could almost smell the old tobacco that he used to smoke and the old wooden benches that he used to work at. The damp dog smell from his dogs I don't have to remember as mine, I know, will stink for most of today whilst they are drying off, but its a smell I both loathe and love. I can imagine the big silver pans on the stove in the kitchen of the house my Grandparents lived in, the newly podded peas scenting the kitchen with a sweet vegetable smell whilst the roast in the oven smells warm and delicious; potatoes newly dug that morning, their earthy smell heavy and rich now bubble on the stove.
