Updated 2nd July 2025
The Gravel Path Walk
It was a mild morning when the pensioners laced up their boots and set off down the familiar gravel path, a route they have walked since childhood. The crunch of tiny stones underfoot mingled with birdsong in the hedgerows—blackbirds fluting and wrens chattering in bursts of sound. The path wound gently between open fields and the hedgerow, alive with the buzz of bees and flashes of yellow primrose. The new warning signs on the inner fence reminding them that the farm land is private. Just ahead, the first of two ponds with Monkton Burn gurgling and dancing over mossy stones, clear and lively, its banks rich with wild life with the occasional eel splashing about. On the pond a movement in the reeds a family of swans—two elegant adults and a trail of grey-fluffed cygnets—glided effortlessly across the water. The cob gave a proud hiss as they passed, protective yet calm. Paused, watching them for a long moment, their reflection mirrored perfectly in the glassy surface. In the fields, horses stood noting their soundings. One raised its head, nostrils flaring at the strange scent on the breeze, then gave a slow, contented snort before returning to its grazing. As the path curved back toward Fellgate the burn whispered as more wildlife dashed across the path. The woods shimmered with birds in flight—robins, thrushes, even a flash of a kingfisher near the water’s edge. By the time they reached the end of the gravel path, their cheeks were pink with the wind and their hearts beating from the exercise that has sustained them for many years.
A short glimpse along the Gravel Path, the same as ever—alive, wild, and quietly magical.
