We went out for a little walk after the rain. The mist had cleared revealing a sharp view over the River Parrett curling its way inland from Bridgwater Bay.
Silly, black-faced sheep dotted the fields, the lambs now indistinguishable from their mothers.
Looking back at a meadow full of tall grasses and moths (and enormous black slugs) we entered an ivy-hung woodland whose canopy echoed with birdcalls as the day came to an end. Walking along a bridle path – one of the roads of the past – it was joyous to think that that small wood looks now as it has done for centuries.
I’m never going to get used to the simple beauty of this place and the respite it offers.