MAY: YORKSHIRE DALES

Dappled sunlight after rain – mixed woodland alongside the River Wharfe – banks of primroses, pale, innocent – swathes of bluebells – pungent smell of wild garlic – amongst the leaves, delicate white bells, unidentified

Swallows – or martins? – skim the surface of the water; chaffinches, mallards including a family of tiny ducklings, the unmistakable sound of a curlew… A woodpecker calls from the opposite bank. I stand for minutes trying to spot a thrush who is running through his extensive repertoire – no joy, although the song is captivating

Another day, another landscape; cross the valley: a curlew whirrs, jackdaws cackle; the call of a cuckoo a good way off…

Near the Valley of Desolation, road closed after a landslip; tall slender-trunked sycamore/maple and beech with new foliage shimmering in the sunlight and glistening after the first shower, dappled light and shade and everywhere the breath of wind stirring the branches, the constant gurgle and chuckle of the stream and, in the total absence of traffic, a medley of birdsong. ..

An early walk up the hill behind the cottage towards Darnbrook as far as the first cattle grid and the call of the first curlew. A perfect morning, warm sun, long shadows, cold wind. The land beneath the grass combed and folded and smoothed by giant fingers; the air busy with birdsong – chaffinch and blue tit in the melee – and the constant chatter of the stream. Sheep murmur and somewhere a cow is bellowing. .. Rain the rest of the day but gives way eventually to an enchanting evening of golden light …

Easy walking across the fields to Hawkswick in bright sun, blue sky studded with whipped cream clouds. There’s just me and field after field of sheep and lambs and it feels like freedom. Past the sand martins in the low cliff by a bend in the river and on past the larches, splendid in their new foliage, picking up their skirts as they lean into each other,c to the bridge, where I stop for a bite of lunch, hoping for a kingfisher. No luck there although I have a good view of a pair of goosander who appear from under the bridge just in front of me and dive their way upstream…

(C) Danielle Jones (Teale) Dance, Collective IDentity, written by Kate Swindlehurst