Hellesveor Cliffs

 

I have to tell you, this morning is a beauty in West Cornwall. The sun is bright in the sky and there is just the gentlest breeze. I don't want to drive and then walk. I just want to walk. I haven't walked out onto the cliffs for so long. The weather has stopped Pops and me from venturing there. Too muddy and a bit tricky for little feet. I had an urge to walk there today. I felt it when I woke up this morning. I'm waking early, and getting the household chores done and dusted before the boys wake up. So that the day can be mine. Call it well planned household management.

It's not far from me, this walk. Just up past the rugby club, along the path that winds through the housing estate, through the horse field and I'm there. Five minutes away from my front door, and I am away. I am transported to a place alive with nature. Those hedgerows are stunning me with their display of bluebells, red campion, cow parsley, hollyhocks, anemones and many others. I take pictures for referencing later. I know quite a lot of the names of wild flowers now, but there are still those that escape me. I look up their name, but it never stays inside my head. Pops and I make up our own names. In rather the same way that they got their names in the first place, I would imagine.

The birds are singing too. I can hear blackbirds, robins and wrens. The occasional 'caaak' of a grouse in the fields. There are skylarks and other songs and sounds that I recognise, but can't give name to. I spot them flitting in and out of the hedgerows, or gathering food along the path. There are buzzards soaring high overhead, catching the thermals as they rise and circle. There are crows in the fields, looking shifty and up to no good.

The pollinators are everywhere. I watch the butterflies waft in front of me, following the path with ease and grace. The speckled woods join together in a tumble. Courting or fighting, I'm not sure which. I know that they are fiercely territorial. I see a Peacock butterfly, but it's too quick for me. It teases me down the path with it's stop start antics. The bumblebees career along too. The seem drunk, as they fly in that hap hazard manner. I am always amazed that they manage to fly at all. They seem to be forever in danger of crashing into things. I spy a tiny butterfly or day flying moth. She is the size of my finger nail. Bright yellow with black spots. I hold my breath and try in vain to take a snap. No good. She's gone. I wait for a while and hope that she will return, like the Brimstone did last year. Honey barks, anxious to get moving again, so I give up and carry on.

And there is the sea. It is gloriously blue this morning. Calm and deep and mesmerising. I find a vantage point and breath lungfuls of sea air. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds the sea makes. I wish that I had brought supplies - a flask of tea would be good right now. There is no-one here. No boats on the water. No walkers passing by. Just me and the Atlantic. I could toboggan down those cliffs and plunge right into the big blue. It is just so inviting. Instead I promise a trip to the beach tomorrow with Pops. To dip a toe or two perhaps.

I walk on. Further than normal. I really don't want to stop. I'd like to keep on walking to Zennor. But I have other things to do today. So reluctantly I turn and head home. I meet a lady running with her IPod. I wonder why? I think she's missing out on all the glorious sounds of nature. I say hello to a couple walking. They are German, I think. I tell them about the yellow butterfly/moth that I saw. I'm a bit like that. Sharing my nature nerdism with others.

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When I get home I look her up. I can't find her. Not on my chart. Not online. I know what I saw. But can't find her anywhere. She's a mystery. If anyone has any idea about what she could be called, I'd love to know.

Here's hoping you all have as lovely a day as I am having.

Leanne xx