On the first day of December I thought it was time to see how my favourite hill was doing. My first shock on climbing over the solid granite stile was in finding that the undergrowth had been scythed to the ground (sadly Ross Poldark was nowhere to be seen…)
The second was seeing the gorse in flower again reminding me of the proverb:
When the gorse is out of bloom,
kissing’s out of fashion.
The idea behind the saying is that gorse is always in flower somewhere. The saying is recorded from the mid 19th century.
Smoke rose from below, whether from a domestic fire or a bonfire I wasn’t able to tell, and the distant view was obscured by low cloud and mist.
I could just make out the blue waters of the bay as the sun peeped out from beneath the clouds, illuminating the fresh green crops emerging below.
I went to sit on my favourite spot from where I can see both coasts, and simply enjoy the tranquillity of this ancient place.
even if I wasn’t entirely alone.
Turning away from the sea, the views to the south are verdant green pastureland.
As the winter sun began to set the dying bracken turned to burnished copper and winter-bare trees to gold in the soft late afternoon light.
And I walked home.