Rosa led, and we hopped into her car, blindfolded as she wanted to create 'mystery' as she drove us to her 'secret' location!. . . . My senses told me we were to the right of Bishops Castle, moving North and Cheryl had a pretty good idea too. We were on 'The Shropshire Way' and in a deep undulating valley, which turned out to be a part of The Kerry Ridgeway...an area where apparently my ancestors bred and farmed the ancient and traditional 'Kerry Sheep'.
The sun was very low in the sky, and so bright it cast sharp, long shadows from the bare tips of all the boughs flattening them to the earth like bridges and starkly dazzling the rich contrasting colours of this bright winter's day.
We regretfully came across a tragic scene of a stranded and very stuck sheep in a quagmire like quicksand. I heard it bleating from the opposite direction to the bulk of the flock. We moved swiftly to where it was and found it impossible to shift though we waded in with our wellies deep in sticky mud, but despite trying to pull it up our efforts were in vain. We found the nearest farm and although deserted of humans managed to write a note and left it in the farmhouse porch, 24 hours later we heard that they had managed to get it out but it hadn't survived. . . . . . This left such a sad and powerless feeling in my solar plexus, yet a sense that the 'wild' is still around despite our efforts to eradicate it. I console myself with the belief that Mother Nature is still very much in control and weaves her way, mingling life and death, nipping and tucking, pushing and pulling, breathing in and breathing out creating balance and compost, essential nourishment for tomorrow.