I saw a wind hover, where the winds gather,
Where the clouds whisked away
And the grass waltzed across the wild land,
While my hair whipped across my eyes
And the sun burst out brightly.

There was Pym Chair, not so good for relaxing.
Was he preacher or highway man?
Your money or my sermon, his sinister request.
I saw a wind hover and in its stillness
I saw the valley through God’s eye

Down the steep road the door to Jenkin chapel was open. Its simple interior a place my ancestors would have known. Set at the junction of the Salters roads its simple lines and homely interior looks out on a well kept graveyard. The local dead are still well regarded and recorded on aged stones.

The paths we followed along the valley were lined with trees old and young. Someone had counted the massive beeches and there were many contenders for ‘tree of the day ‘. There was a beautiful rich greenness in every fern and moss, every leaf and plant and the riverside meadows.
The butterflies seemed to particularly like the thistles. They danced around them in ones, twos, three and even fours. The other gifts of the day were the frequent stands of wild raspberries bringing a welcome fruity tang to the walk.

The sky changed from pale to dark grey. A strong shower swept through, followed by the widening blue window and higher whiskers of white feathery clouds. A summer day of contrasts and companionship.

In our coming and our going
The Peace of God