All in a Day’s Walk – Sean Brown

August is slowly but surely turning its face from summer skies, to
herald the approach of autumn. The hedgerows stand in dishevelled
lines, awaiting their summer coats to be pruned back. Field margins
that once hosted a myriad of life are now visited only by a few
fluttering cabbage whites as they search for a mate, but it’s too late.
Corpses of willowherb, cliff spurge and hogweed lie at the feet of
bowing thistles. These once proud, upstanding sentinels bristled with
barbs but are now mere skeletons of their former selves. Yet, they are
determined to hold on for one last gust to take their downy seeds to a
nursery bed, before Old Father Time scythes them down.

The west wind carries the bright tone of a distant church bell, ringing
out God’s voice as it calls the faithful. The same wind agitates the over
ripe rape seeds nestling inside their pods, causing them to rattle as
if to call out to the farmer to come and seal their fate. Underfoot, the
remains of a clay-pipe bowl reveals itself. The recent downpours have
washed away its grave coverings and exposed its resting place. It lies
in a field of swaying barley, evoking memories of ancient folk who
once trod these pathways. The turning earth will soon be littered with
harvest detritus; stumpy corn stalks, empty seed pods and wasted
ears, all awaiting the return of the gleaming plough share.