Homer Simpson’s Rock
And a visitation from Hedwig..?
Almost daily, now, I yearn for those quiet spells when I walk my dog. Somehow, paying full attention to him and his needs is mental balm. Much of the time, Arrow bounds away, following exciting smell trails, ears pricked to locate the cause of that rustling leaf. But sometimes he just wants to play with me.
I hide behind trees or drop down behind bushes. I throw sticks; I play-wrestle with him.
These actions remind me that the mantra ‘Be More Dog’ (cited in my June 19th post of the same name) is a worthwhile endeavour for everyone. Perhaps not all the time – that would be tiresome. But on occasions when I can turn off my phone and remove myself physically from my computer, walking Arrow removes me mentally from those essential modern accoutrements.
There are many smashing walks around where I live – they have different characters, too. Some are grassy and open – great on a brisk autumn morning, when you want to make the most of the weak sunshine and stride along to stay warm. Others pass through shady woodland – dappled pools of sunlight dancing on leaves still damp from overnight dew. One has a famous feature named Harrison’s Rocks, a series of soft sandstone crags slightly south of Groombridge in East Sussex. It’s a ‘Periglacial Tor’ for the geology nerds among you. It became very popular during the Victorian period, when smart young men liked to travel down from London and show off to their lady friends by shinning up and down the rock faces. It may be on the low side, but has challenging sections, good enough to train serious mountaineers.
The route I like to take is off to one side. The Eridge Rocks portion of the same formation is quieter. I see the occasional climber above me, hanging perilously by a rope and harness, as he takes a breather, spinning slightly in the breeze. But mostly our walk is witnessed by birds, squirrels, rabbits and deer. It is here that I’ve been really close to birds of prey. There are sparrow hawks with their ‘kee, kee’ calls and buzzards, cruising the field and woodland margins in search of unwary mice or voles. One day, our passage through the trees disturbed a rare visitor to Britain, (especially this far south), a Snowy Owl, wingspan stretching between the bushes as he made his escape along the dark path and up through the tree canopy. I shall always remember being startled by the sudden appearance of this large and silent predator, its bright white purity emphasised by the shaded path. Maybe it was Hedwig, delivering a letter to Harry Potter.
The rocks themselves have characters too. I used to lie in front of the fireplace as a small boy and gaze into the flames and imagine animals, monsters and other creatures forming for a split second before they disappeared as sparks up the chimney. In the same way, my brain focusses on some rocky outcrop and formulates another image. I suppose it’s a bit like dreaming, when your brain cycles through the day’s sights and experiences and smashes them together into unlikely scenarios. So perhaps these are my daydreams.
I see Homer Simpson in this picture. What do you see?
