The air is rich with the aroma of elderflower, roses and honeysuckle.
Foxgloves march across banks, sheep safely graze on the sports field and a young deer skirts its dense perimeter.
On the hedgerow, deep in one of Dorset’s holloways, a static serpent slithers around a tree trunk like a ship’s figurehead.
Bee orchids burst forth in the churchyard. Hidden red gems in strawberry beds reveal themselves daily as the sun beats down. Blackcurrants ripen on the stem, their gorgeous smell good enough to eat.
The blue sky is clouding over. There is humidity in the air. We are due a storm.
Up on the hill, a lone cyclist wakes in his tent to birdsong. Of course, he shouldn’t be here. Lockdown rules have not been lifted yet to allow overnight stays. However, tucked up here, in Dorset’s most isolated spot, he is probably less a risk to others than the sardine sun worshippers legitimately flocking to the beaches and the queues of people queuing for the supermarket.
Maybe he is up here for an eye test.
That’s about it.
Love Maddie x