There's not much else to write about right now, thank goodness.
Finding a new place to for our evening walks, with a hint of being in the country about it - though it's really just edgelands - has made a huge difference to our experience of lockdown. (We were already lucky enough to have a home from which we can do most of our work, and a garden.) And now we've abandoned the featureless playing fields and manicured park, and see fewer people as a result. We also cover more ground - around four miles for our daily exercise, which is considerably more on average than we used to do. Still haven't spotted the extremely noisy green woodpeckers up there yet, though.
Here's some photos.
Gibbous moon above the conifers on the golf course
Wind turbines at Avonmouth
Lady's smock
A fox trotting past and pausing
The moon in the woods ...
... and tangled in a tree, like Absalom.
Trees with barbed wire growing through them on the lane. I remember mentioning this to my father when we walked up there fifty years ago, and I feel as upset about it now as I did then.
The wishing tree
Sundown over the airfield, for the extension of which most of the village of Charlton was razed in the late 1940s, bar a few houses ...
... including this one, Pentre (now Cedar House). Now the airfield is in the process of being built on. What goes round.
Old Filton House and the side elevation of Pegasus House through the railings
The rookery-cum-jackdawry
A nearly dry winterbourne at the foot of the field
Ted getting tangled around a tree
Mare's tail shoots, looking deceptively fungal
A golden sundown over Charlton Common
Sunset alongside the railway cutting beyond Charlton Common
The last of the sun over Fishpool Hill
The fire brigade and five police cars arriving to deal with a fire on the golf course. Sightings of lads, lager and two BBQs were mentioned the next day.
The oak tree appears to have lost a large limb at some point, as well as a lot of its bark ...
... and some inner wood. It's also been attacked by borers.
Apple blossom
The cycle of the seasons
The tree by the old factory building has stood there so long I hardly ever notice it
The sun going down in the oak tree. How the leaves have burgeoned this week.
A second oak
Cribbs Causeway from the opposite side of the airfield
Alkanet and yellow archangel
A closer look at Cedar House
Sunset over Charlton Common ...
... and the field beyond
Mist over the River Avon; the new Severn bridge just visible
No more jaunting for a while, then. No more getting in the car and driving somewhere, even local-ish, to walk the dog. If, like me, you use the prospect of spring to get yourself through the dark half of the year and find yourself, for whatever reason, locked down in a less than appealing part of the country, it's a bit grim.
I've been chronicling my walks with Ted, our border collie, as I chronicle everything, on the grounds that some of it might one day end up in a poem.
First, there was the trip to Severn Beach, which we pretended was Greece and got roundly chastised on Facebook by someone who believed us. It also turned out to be last trip, as lockdown was imposed the following day.
So, we were left with a churchyard, a playing field and a park. I like wandering through the churchyard. I know quite a few of the people in it, and maybe acknowledging the dead and taking the time to talk to them is something of an insurance policy, in that they might put in a good word for us?
The walks around the parks have their moments. It's a question of looking for beauty in the small things.
One day we were clever. We got up really early and drove to Tescos by Horfield Common, taking Ted with us so we could combine shopping and dog-walking, thus saving one trip out and getting to walk somewhere different for a change, all without flouting the Do Not Drive To Walk Your Dog Rule. Except that even at 8am the Queue of Self-Isolation was coiling around the car park, and though it was chilly, we didn't want to leave Ted banged-up in the car, so we ended up just walking him and had to go out for shopping later.
So it was a bit illicit after all. But we got to walk on the Common, visit a different churchyard and see the house where Cary Grant grew up.
Then I had a hankering for sunsets. Normally, I wouldn't dream of walking down the A38 in the early evening to view them, but these aren't normal times.
Here's the sun setting over the railway line to Avonmouth. I must have been there in one of the two exact moments every year when it's precisely in the middle of the cutting.
But sometimes the sunsets are hidden in cloud.
Sometimes the walks are, frankly, disappointing.
Today my son, Ted and I tried the golf course. We never go up there normally, even though there's a footpath across the fairways, because of all the aggressive golfers with their puffed-out chests and their git-orf-my-landery.
Except the place is closed. There was no one parked in the space for Seniors Captain, the Lady Vice Captain, the Lady Captain or the Lady Secretary.
At the far side of the course, there's a lane ...
... which leads to a rough rectangle of land, bounded by thorns and some really quite impressive trees. And there are views to the Welsh hills in the distance ...
... and though you can't see it in this photo, a glimpse of the River Severn at Avonmouth. Which means there'll be sunsets.
We walked around two sides of the rectangle. OK, so it's not exactly wild but it's not manicured in the way a park is. There weren't many people there, either. I could feel myself beginning to Stake A Claim. My patch for the duration. Somewhere to watch the seasons change.
In the far corner there was another path, which we followed through scrubby woodland. We were clearly skirting the Airbus site but I was in semi-rural heaven. Chiff-chaffs were loudly announcing the imminent arrival of summer. We heard robins too, and vociferous blue tits.
We stopped when the footpath reached a road and retraced our steps, returning to the golf course via the path up the other side of the piece of open ground ...
... which took us past an oak tree. Although small, it's clearly had an eventful past.
I think it could become a favourite.
By now I was ecstatic. I'd found somewhere new and much improved to walk in.
And I saw my first ladybird of the year, and a rabbit hopped by in the clubhouse car park - my second one in three days on the edge of the airfield.
And when I got home and studied my map, I saw that beyond the road there's another expanse of common land to explore. All within walkable distance. O happy me.
Ted getting tangled around a tree
Alkanet and yellow archangel
