Chores done, and with a weekend of mixed weather forecast, time for some dog-focused time and a few hours walking and playing with the dogs. We headed off to the Wirral, through the tunnel,queuing for ages at the toll, down the motorway a couple of stops before heading off towards the Thurstaston cliffs overlooking the Dee estuary.
Time to sit and ponder and gaze down at the waders out in the river, I could hear the familiar cry of the oystercatchers, and just about make them out, but I had forgotten to bring my binoculars, so had to rely on the zoom on my camera.
and closer. . .
Their are plenty of benches along the top of the cliff, which can be a bit blustery, and further back sheltered by the trees and bushes, where you can sit back and while away the hours. But the dogs were eager to be moving so soon into the walk, so pushing an empty buggy, with Heidi jogging behind, I headed out of the park to the walkway that leads to the old railway line.
Once we got to the gravel path it was time for Miss Hoppalong to get into the buggy, the sharp gravel being less comfortable to her paws than the soft grass. When she has had enough walking she will lie down and refuse to move, that’s when I know she’s had enough exercise. The vet said she will be prone to arthritis and it’s hard to know whether this is affecting her yet.
The path takes us onto a boardwalk by some reed beds. It was here last week we met someone waiting patiently for sighting of a kingfisher – his daughter, he told me had seen it there on two separate occasions and he had never seen one, I hope he was successful and managed to get a picture of it.
A dragonfly skimmed past, they don’t keep still for long, and I tried following it with my camera but it was much to fast. As soon as I could focus it had darted out of shot. And then, it alighted on the rail behind me.
By the shores of Ennerdale
“SUMMER AND AUTUMN fuse into each other imperceptibly, the point of fusion lost in some period of September humidity, in a mild wonder of too-soft days. Autumns comes slowly, and having come slowly, goes on slowly, for a long time, even as far on as December. In a country of many trees, such as this is, where one kind of tree turn its colours while another holds them fast and where some trees are stripped while others are summered with leaf, it is never easy to make the mark between season and season. Autumn slips a finger into August, but Spring has a revenge in December. Winter blows on September, but October still remains, with May and June, the loveliest month of the English year, a kind of second spring, uncertain but exhilarating, sunny and snowy, hot and frosty, bright and dark by turns, a sort of Autumnal April.”
Through the Woods
H. E. Bates