AMBLING THROUGH OUR HALLOWED ISLE

Lush forests abundant with trees, precious lungs of the earth, snow peaked mountains icy glens, deftly we traverse 

Forged with nature skiing, boating, fishing, shooting, all manner of pursuits by them we become as one 

Eyes can wander unrestricted further mile beyond mile perusing the fauna covers dales dells moors deep valleys 

Once unpopulated untameably wild, now horses can peacefully trot and canter, with humans they carry and bond

Hills gushing waterfalls we are tempted to plunder and be baptised under, shivering and laughing, such fun follies 

Sunny whispering streams caressing our hands tempted to submerge feet and toes in nature we dabble and rally

The paradise of countryside's warm and welcoming arms as comforting dreams we succour from it, so jolly

In awe of the expansive freedom of hushed mirror reflected lakes, gushing rivers bursting with fresh water salmon 

Babbling brooks and streams where fish leap to avoid the hook, still foraging for food deep in their watery marines

How many aspire to belong amidst the gifts of nature's growth and throes beyond their wishes 

To linger among chameleon colour changing undulating terrain wherein wildlife roams, mesmeric scenes

For when life gets too complicated causing such pain enabling its traumas to recede and pale, mood switches

An oasis to imbibe the sweet savouring of seasonal myriad scents carried on warm breezes, calmness sown 

Pungent pine, wild posies, heather, lavender, roses, soil, hay and fruit orchard's treasure trails 

Combine and proliferated by honeybees on an unrelenting seasonal scale, bountifully tangibly shown 

Propagating to feed our populous from watersides to towns and cities, food's bounty prevails 

Breathing enveloping swathes of oxygen filled air unmeasured, gliders and kites colourfully circle and swerve

No mind space there for sad thoughts to linger and lament only excitement and exhilaration vents

Nature's natural tranquilizer its regenerating effects relaxing into pleasure of outdoor preserves

Reliving of happy times of idyllic childhood spent stippled sunlight twigs crunch underfoot all bent

Where we remembered places to discover unearth and regain where dogs run freely and scamper

Reviving our sense of awe at tors jagged that will outlast, owls hooting from their crevices, birds taking flight

Their purpose over the aeons perhaps it was for shelter or laden with grain, undoubtedly humanity's anchor

Farmers arable agriculture combined together for livelihood's spoils harvested and cashed, an inalienable right

Survival of communities local and afar continuing traditions of old country skills and crafts, a prestigious banner

Pheasants venison sheep cows kept untethered then later to eat a delicious feast of succulent delectable bites

Wool from sheep spun as precious as gold once weathered yet malleable adapts in every manner

To make garments through employment of country folk so professional no other competition contrasts

We are grateful they remain and dutifully sustain always they are treasured their presence interacts

Even in misty vistas or torrential life giving rain where shepherds cloaked and soaked

Yet without question protecting animals thereby maintaining our lands in so many ways to gain

Artists gather wanting to recreate the magic of famous landscape painters Wilson Turner and Constable

Flocking to magnetic scenes compelled to interpret and illustrate in water or oil paints

Capturing the unrivalled beauty of which city folk jestingly call the country, down in the sticks, yet ever responds

How very convivial and so very British their art showing so much talent with little creative restraint

For the generations ahead to see how the land was then, yet incrementally by urban schemes eclipsed

To stand and gaze in galleries at landscape paintings to render us to be moved sentimental, so proud

It is a silent badge of honour why a country person's fervent admiration forever exists

River boats and rowers punting at Oxford and Cambridge the annual Henley Regatta

Not leaving out our sacred game of cricket watched while eating cold yet melting gelato

Village bowling greens for our golden folk to stay moving by pitching and returning

Their thatched cottages decked by flowers curling thickets their gardens tended imprinting their personal signature

Quiet old country pubs serving tea and scones in winter drinks in hand by the home fire crackling fiercely burning

Castles and country mansions still revered icons of more philanthropic opulent days, people still transfixed

Upheld by the National Trust where they cannot be put asunder preserves our culture lest it turn to dust and dies

Encouraging national and international tourists to visit they cannot deny or steal our thunder, so loud, no tricks

Whilst enjoying magnificent stately homes wherein tailored acres they lie, to slowly amble where flowers rise

A testament of long lost eras where upon the landed gentry did build and owned, then by rising costs plundered

Change and time waits for no-one, society now beats to a different tone, past not bemoaned, obligingly to comply 

Yet our wealth is the universe's gift, a magnificent isle where we can amble at leisure without hindrance or denial

Copyright Natasha Anne Kelleher November 2021

All Rights Reserved