A fair April day has dawned up in the hills above the village of Kerry. Nothing's come or gone yet along the road beside the stream. Nature's curfew means its dew tinted tarmac must stay empty for a little while longer, to let the stream have its say and give the scattered strands of meadow grass a chance to be blown back into the hedgerows. Silently and invisibly to the ear, the road waits, winding down into the valley through woods and open fields, almost all of the way. Intertwined and accompanied by the music of the stream.
Up here in the hills, the air is cool and pristine fresh. Soon the morning sun will have lifted away the last of the night's chill. A distant cockerel crows amongst birds in full song. Their sonorous voices ring out over the landscape, pure, unfettered by human noise. One flies down to the stream. Tiny wings beat the air. Then gone, quick as a dart. A short creaky call echoes. A roaming pheasant, sounding like an unoiled garden gate. When near the sheer effort can be heard to judder the air.
The stream runs steadily, hidden out of sight along the bottom of a steep brambled gully about ten feet below the level of the road. This section is thickly wooded with weather beaten trees. Far from habitation and almost knee-deep with leaf litter, it's a safe home to birds and ground living wildlife, and a wonderful place to experience the sound of the landscape.
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This is the fourth episode from this lovely spot near the Kerry Ridgeway. Explore them all via this blog post.
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