Nipple Hill

I passed Wingreen Hill on my return from Devon this afternoon. I'd been on a mercy mission for a chum (or in this case chump) who'd locked his keys in his van at Kozfest. Easily done, especially at a psychedelic rock festival. As I climbed up Zig Zag Hill, up onto downs Wingreen was silhouetted against the sky in the distance. The afternoon sky was azure blue and dappled with light wispy cloud, the ripening downs landscape was bathed in the rich colours afforded by the summer sun. Lovely! So prominent on the horizon, and so clearly visible for miles around, Wingreen has always been a feature to orientate yourself by. Even if a landscape feature already has an established name, still we tend to assign them our own, so it is with Wingreen, known to our family as 'Nipple Hill'. Seeing landscape, as I do, as a physical manifestation of the Goddess, it's curves, it's hills and valleys, 'Nipple Hill' seemed an appropriate name. 

Wingreen

There used to be a wooden fence around the clump of Beech trees which crown the Bronze Age Barrowed summit of lofty Wingreen Hill; the fence has now gone and I found myself wandering into to the stand and around the the barrow. Time and space appeared suspended as my mind joined my feet and wandered; my mind must have wandered far, as all of a sudden I was back, being totally unaware that I'd left in the first place; then my mind does tend to follow the rabbit.

Who were the Bronze Age folk thought so special to be afforded such a significant resting place? Through the trunks I can see a vast landscape stretching out before me in all directions, this place in the land must have always held significance. It's visible for miles. What over events has such a prominent spot witnessed?  So many, I'm sure. Here in the clump nearly every tree is scared by years of graffiti, though sadly, virtually none of it legible, all obscured by time. Who? When? Why? What? Questions questions, all to remain unanswered. 

Grimm wood

Fairytale paths lead you through the magical Chase landscape, out over windswept hills allowing stolen views into other counties, off along secluded meandering valleys and through woodland; woodland, which at this time of year, all skeletal and eerie, could be straight off the pages of the Brothers Grimm. We're lucky to have so many wondrous places to roam so close to hand. There's a certain gravitas to the Chase, the millennia of history are almost tangible, so soaked is the landscape. A walk through the Chase is a walk through time. As I say, a magical landscape. 

We sat awhile in ancient woodland below Wingreen Hill: silence, nice, well not really silence, the sounds of nature busying herself filled the stands and spilled out into the coombe below, it's all the noises of man which have been silenced; planes, cars, you know the things. It gets harder and harder to find spots where the sounds of modern man don't impinge on natures perfection.  Here's one spot.  A chance to stop, close your eyes, relax and breath deep. Tune into the woodland: the more you sync in, take root, the more the woodland opens up to you and the more you hear. A woodpecker taps out his repetitive beat high amongst lofty boughs, while other birds of many types contribute the chorus; with dexterity squirrels move gracefully from branch to branch, tree to tree, like daring high-wire acts; just visible in the woodland on the other side of the coombe deer graze unawares of our presence and all about, hidden from view, you know a myriad of creatures busy themselves. So, really it wasn't silent at all, but what it was is what it should be... nature doing her thing. You could sit for an age, here in her embrace.