Felton fox

Right now there is only me awake in the whole world; well, me and the wind rustling through the black leaves of the beech. I woke up a hot hour ago and having tossed and thought, I cogitated it was worth getting up, doing something and going back to bed later. I decided against the ironing (well you would , wouldn't you?); I wondered about sewing up the hems on those jeans but 4a.m. eyesight is not keen enough so in the staring glare of a desk light (which hopefully does not pierce the darkness of the inhabitants of the other rooms on the landing) I am quietly tapping away on a keyboard.
Why am I awake? Was it the stimulating company and conversation of old friends? the red wine I am no longer used to? habit as I find myself going through periods where I am awake in the early hours and other times when I sleep like a log? as I was reminded last week- 'too many birthdays' so maybe this is another thing which happens when one ages? but I don't feel old so I am going to dismiss that- after all I am not yet a daytime snatcher and snoozer..... as a fruit tea drinker I am gazing at the alarm clock probably as a result of taking a strange fancy to the strong coffee at the restaurant!

It is almost October, the autumn equinox is behind us and I need to alter the porch light to come on earlier. The harvest is in and I have the dried fruit bought for the Christmas cake.

I remember nestling in the boughs of an old, lichen encrusted apple tree in Felton; I holidayed with the grandmother of family friends; Nana Peat lived in a cottage terraced along Felton's main street; behind her home was another world- a big garden dominated by a gnarled tree heavy with fruit and us. Nana wore a floral pinny and checked, pompommed slippers which shuffled. We went to Felton recently to walk. We sipped in the heavenly smell of fresh baking in The Running Fox and bought a set of local walk booklets. Best foot forward and we were off........

Along the river bank, under the canopy of trees and past hedgerows of nettles entwisted with honeysuckle.

Past the gentle murmur of munching sheep not yet aware of the coming trauma of separation for market.

Had Ratty and Mole been there before us?

Much of the walk was through fields in which the harvest was being gathered and through some fields where the wheat was yet to be taken in.

Northumberland is host to lots of Halls tucked away in the countryside by Victorian entrepreneurs and now put to a different use; we have been told this Hall may be a residence for some kind of Christian fellowship or retreat house?

Meanwhile we move through the corn- well wheat- like girls in a Cadbury's advert

Where are we? The county we know so well still holds surprises as we march past drive entrances- what is up there?

and continue to wind along lanes hung with bells of fuschia

and butterfly enticing buddleia bushes

'Let's head for home via a cuppa in the village' so we leave the land and wander through the history living in the names of houses on the old A1.

A grand walk!

Now  'Home James and don't spare the horses'........