Traffic

A lost summer. Caught a wave as it said goodbye and slipped through the door. Ok. I’ll just take another sip from my bidon.

The hops smell sweet, like wet stinging nettles and mint. The cows are fat, and beautiful because of it. Risden, Swattenden, Benenden, Hinksden, Benenden, Dingelden, Ramsden, gravel, road, blackberries. What did they do in these holes in the woods? Forge, hammer, water. I guess we don’t know, care or remember anymore. That is ok too.

I’ve had a holiday without bikes, bookended with a couple of rides in the late afternoon sun; short, sweet and silent.

• hops
• kent
• sussex