Doleham
Saturday 15th July:50sp
I drive gingerly through the narrow lanes that lead to Doleham, now that they are further constricted by bulging summer hedgerows and many bends are preceded by black skidmarks on the road.
The valley is silent, but for the yelping of young Green Woodpeckers and the soulful fluting of warm wind through holes in the steel gateposts, joined every half hour by the bellowing of the Marshlink as it rumbles beneath dark Oaks that are vacant but for a ragged Buzzard.
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