John Walsh reckons that 'below' it feels wintry; yet ascend near a village called Steep and spring beckons. But where is he?
"In a few hundred yards we seem to have strayed into prehistory, though you can still hear the dull groan of the A3 in the distance."
"But on the walls of expensively-tended gardens, rhododendrons are starting to emerge; cherry blossoms giving the lane a froth of fondant-fancy pink."
[From Edward Thomas' poem, "Up in the Wind":]
For who now used these roads except myself,
A market waggon every other Wednesday,
A solitary tramp, some very fresh one
Ignorant of these eleven houseless miles.....
[T]he land is wild, and there's a spirit of wildness
Much older, crying when the stone-curlew yodels
His sea and mountain cry, high up in Spring.
Photo: Edward Thomas memorial stone in the village of Steep.