Stormy skies and sunsets and tadpoles

Only a week till the golfers return, so we've been walking mostly over the golf course, making the most of the magnificent old trees, whose company we'll miss when they're out of bounds again. 

Oh noooo, don't go! 

We did, however, go for a walk elsewhere, namely Splatts Abbey Wood, which is over the back of the local Asda and handy when you're doing a shop (though probably best not to buy ice cream if you're going there afterwards). Splatts Abbey Wood is a Place of My Childhood - more about that here. 

First, though, incredibly fiery shoots from the pollarded trees on the far side of the A4174 ... 

...which remind me of Sylvia Plath's poem, 'Elm': 

'I have suffered the strocity of sunsets.

Scorched to the root

My redfilaments burn and stand, a hand of wires.'

And who lives in a house like this? 

Even Splatts Abbey Wood, tiny and tucked away between the MOD complex and the Hewlett Packard campus, appears to have been visited rather more heavily than usual during lockdown, as the ground was pretty trampled. It will come into its own in a few weeks, when the bluebells come out, but for now there are the surprisingly tall trees to admire and a feeling of space that belies its dimensions. 

Up on the golf course, the weather's been mostly springlike, with lots of signs that winter is nearly over.

Willow coming into leaf

Pussy willow

Hawthorn coming into leaf

Tadpoles!

Celandines

White dog violets

Early flowering cherry

The weather often plays a part in the enjoyment we get from our walks. The skies are endlessly changing, and one day we were up there with the sun breaking through heavy cloud. I don't think I've ever seen such curious, gorgeous light.

Other days it's been stormy and sunny at the same time ... 

... and there's also been a few days of mackerel cloud, which is one of my favourite sorts. 

The award for the birds most in evidence (visually) are the green woodpeckers, which have made several (fleeting) appearances, not that I've managed to take a single photo of them, the buggers. The award for the birds most in evidence (aurally) goes to the rooks and jackdaws, who are most vociferous on the subject of nests and where in the rookery to build them - although rather than interspecies punch-ups, they seem to fall out between themselves. 

Also, goldfinches. A charm of goldfinches in the lane. 

Also, a noticing of trees ... 

Poplar bark, embroidered and draped like fabric

Mistletoe

Catching a patch of blue sky

... and the views from various parts of the ridge. Every time we look, I see more and more that is familiar but that I didn't spot sooner. 

Two former family homes and a photobombing ... jay? 

The new Severn bridge

The old Severn bridge

And sunsets! Even though currently we have to miss Pointless to see them.

And sunsets in the hollowing oak in the meadow. With a following wind, a whole spring-, summer- and autumn-ful to come.

Return to Scorhill, Shovel Down and North Tawton

The person I took with me to Dartmoor on Sunday loved our whistle-stop tour so much that he wanted to go back again the following day.  'Show me one of your favourite spots,' he said. So, after lunch in the Northmore Arms at Wonson, I did. 

Ascending the drift lane to Scorhill Down

Looking over to Watern Tor from Scorhill stone circle

The Tolmen Stone on the bank of the North Teign

My favourite clapper of all, over the Wallabrook

View up the North Teign from the Teign-e-ver clapper
















Looking down one of the stone rows on Shovel Down to Batworthy  

Kestor Rock from Three Boys standing stone

 Beeches at Batworthy Corner

 A tiny adder, newly emerged from hibernation

Locals

 We then had to contemplate joining the serpent and headaching the car homeward back up the M5, but not before we had a quick visit to North Tawton, whose church with its witch's hat for a steeple always makes me smile.

The hedge of conifers that shielded Court Farm, former home of Ted Hughes and, for a time, Sylvia Plath, has gone since my last visit, leaving the old house rather exposed.  It was thrilling but also rather uncomfortable spotting the shrivelling remains of the daffodils that feature in both Plath's and Hughes' poems about their last spring together.

At a more respectful distance, however, you can see Plath's inspiration for the last two lines of the first verse of The Moon and Yew Tree.  

Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.