A weekend pause

A slow moving winding waterway runs through the verdant flat plain of mid-Cheshire, the River Dane, a name derived from Old Welsh dafyn which means trickling stream. Here in Northwich it joins the River Weaver, the confluence being in the centre of town. But before it does, its last meander is through the middle of farmland, past cows who clumsily dip in for a drink or to cool on a summer's day.

As part of a Sunday afternoon drive, the first stop is at a farm that over looks the Dane although it cannot be seen, just picked out by the trees and denser plants that flank the river. A looping greener way into town so sinuous it's as if the river couldn't quite make its mind up until deciding that town life and merging forces with the Weaver was the better option after all. 

Shipbrook Hill where I stand is the site of a Norman Castle and local folk have told me of some ruins of it being within the farm's garden. I found no trace but on this escarpment is the treasure of a view on this fluffy sky day with the steeple of the church in the distance piercing cumulus and equally cotton wooled sheep frolicking in the nearby field. On an ox bow beyond are a herd of cows, tails flicking and swallows squeal above and swoop enjoying the weather. By my feet, pink mallow stretches up and tickles the fence posts, clover flowers like baubles are bobbing about with bees and the rolling carpet of grass from shades of deep green to end of summer yellow stretches on towards the town.