Dawn at Clearbury Rings
- Jen Blaxall.
- 20 hours ago
- 2 min read
To hear the dawn chorus at Nunton this morning was worth getting up before daybreak. The heavy scent of cow parsley lining the verges led the way.
The cows on the dairy farm were peacefully chewing the cud in the cool of the morning, while the wild hedges were opening their blooms to welcome the rising sun.
Ox-eye daisies beckoned me up the hill towards the hillfort, where I was greeted at the gate by a herd of cows. The one animal that still makes me a little nervous is cows, so as I contemplated my diversion, I stood safely behind the gate watching the inquisitive herd. I calmly observed them checking me out, and suddenly it wasn’t only them who were curious.
As an intuitive healer, I have worked with many different species, but never with cows — and now I had a whole herd before me. Within minutes, I recognised the familiar behaviours animals often show during healing: lip licking, stretching, gentle head bowing, and soft blinking eyes. Before long, I felt a warm breath on my face and a wet lick on my arm.
After announcing to the herd that I needed to gain access to the footpath through the field and politely asking for some space, I bravely stepped through the gate. The cows showed me mutual respect and allowed me to continue my path. It seemed the healing was actually for me, as I discovered a new level of understanding - and much less fear of cows.
Leaving my new friends in their meadow, I sat for a while at the hillfort. Skylarks sang high above while red kites circled and dived overhead as I absorbed the ancient landscape surrounding me, with its far-reaching views across the Great Yews, Giant’s Graves, and the Breamore Estate.
Heading back down through the meadows, the wild hedges and flowers were alive with pollinators, while plantain flowers released their pollen like fairy dust as I passed.
On the final stretch back to the village, I was accompanied by corn buntings and meadow pipits, while hares dashed across the meadows and painted lady butterflies fed from the comfrey.
Not even 9am, and the temperature was already rising, so I paused beside the Ebble river for a while, mesmerised by the babbling clear water as I sat in that liminal space between movement and stillness.
Before heading home, I visited the church - said to have been cursed by the gypsies. Welcoming the coolness of the ancient building, I found yet more apotropaic mark graffiti, as I seem to do every time I visit.
I hope you can join me in June for this beautiful, wild, ancient walk.
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