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Writer's pictureJen Blaxall.

Walking Ibsley Common.

Today I went out to check the walk at Ibsley which I am offering at the end of the month.

It felt very autumnal with a gentle shower of leaves as I walked against the assertive breeze. The Moyles Oak is still the monument that it has been for centuries even beyond its life.

He still dominates the crossroads as he continues to stand and to support life beyond its last fallen leaf. It would've been a meeting place for generations and stood in its prime when Alice Lisle resided at Moyles Court. What wisdom and history stands there, so stoic and strong,  witnessing the comings and goings over time, even beyond life.

The hedgerows along footpaths are bursting with berries and the sound of dropping crab apples is a familiar autumn song on this breezy, moody afternoon. Walking between the horse paddocks, I took a deep breath to enjoy the most beautiful smell in the world! (To me) the sweet smell of horse breath as they potter and graze. I could catch glimpses of Blashford lakes and Ibsley village through the trees as I weaved between bracken and low branches on my path.

Once up on Ibsley common, the landscape instantly changes from wild hedges and fence lines to vast, open heathland. This is where I met the happiest (and wiggliest) 4 month old Jack Russell, with his owner in tow. He was a delightful little bundle and reminded me of my girls who still walk with me in spirit! We passed the time of day, before I got lost in my thoughts, the vast views and the sweet scent of heather where ponies foraged, cows rested and deer posed.

Rabbits made a dash for it from gorse to bracken as I stopped to take in that sensory moment and watched swifts skim the heather.

Everytime I find myself on Ibsley common, I feel the need to go and see the night sky from there. One night I will, and the Huff Duff encourages me with its graffiti statement "The night conceals the sun but reveals the universe".

Before long, the purple from heather will be gone, along with the swifts with a promise of their return next year. The wheel turns and the seasons shift, but the history of wartime activity permanently exists in that landscape.


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