Sunday Picnic

The Bridge is a modern metal affair, replacing the old stone one that was washed away in one of the winter storms a few years ago. We sit on the lumpy, hummocky ground next to it and picnic in the shimmering breathless heat. Above us, Curlews fly too and fro from feeding grounds to their nests on the hillside. They call to warn of their arrival and glide effortlessly in to land near but not on the nest. I watch through binoculars as one creeps through the undergrowth to the nest site. A pair of Kestrels brave the mid day heat to hunt. But they do not gave their hearts in it and they give up and take to gliding and soaring, I guess just because they can. Occasionally the peace and quiet is broken by walkers tramping down the hill. We sit on "our" hummock and watch them making a mess of trying to get through the boggy bit at the bottom without getting muddy. They all fail but go to great lengths to do so. We shout out occasional bits of advice and then laugh with them as the mud and water creeps up to their ankles. One group have a little white dog that just leaps in with a great muddy splash, soaking itself and its owner. Unamused the man takes the little dog to the stream and tries to wash off the mud. This is serious entertainment, even the Munch stops eating his crisps to watch. After a few minutes of struggling the dog is cleaned to the mans satisfaction, and he stands up proudly. His companions who have gathered on the bank to watch, applaud him politely and if I was being uncharitable I would say a faintly mocking way. The dog unamused,finds a muddy patch and rolls in it. They move off to continue their walk. The dog has the good grace to trot a few yards behind them. The teenagers head off to the stream to paddle and swim in the deeper pools. Mrs BW and I settle down on the rug for an afternoon nap. As I dose off it crosses my mind that it is risky to fall asleep next to a stream with the Weasel and the Munch on the loose. But I am sure it would never cross their minds..................