I climbed a small hill near us this weekend. Brent Knoll, and since I am still waiting for the battery for my camera, all I have is an excerpt from my notebook. I love the shapes these trees take, harassed by the wind for years on end. Driving them into wild shapes and stunting growth.
The walk up and down is short, only three miles. But the fact that it sits at the edge of the Somerset levels mean it stands proud where other hills would fall short. This advantage gives views from the top that are without parallel, more so on a clear day, but on a cold Sunday afternoon, with the cloud just lifting and the Mendips in sight, it is like looking back in time. You can almost ignore the motorway noise and concentrate on the wind, the birdsong, and the damp in the air. It was like most places around England at the moment, muddy. I had forgotten what the view was like here. It was a pleasure to find it again after 6 years. The old hill fort is still clearly visible, and makes an interest landscape of the summit. The trig point has been joined by a millennium stone, with directions and distances to the local places around.
It makes a great short walk if you are short of time, or have children to impress with tales of heroics and battles involving King Arthur, from Camelot. Because on a good day you can see Glastonbury, purported to be his last resting place – The Isle of Avalon. Next time out I hope to have my camera back in service.
Some notes also inspired by this walk;
Old bones cold in the ground
hard against the sky.
A landscape written against a slow step,
pressed down, washed over, grooved and cracked.
Forced and shaped by another time-scale,
to watch as we pass by so fast
you do not even weep at our passing,