The bluebells have faded and died up on the hill, as high winds burst through the village at breakneck speeds.
It’s June, but you wouldn’t think so. After a few balmy days at the end of May, it seems like winter has returned. People are even calling into the village shop for logs.
The battling breeze whips off the tips of hedges and branches. Nature’s hedgecutter, this wind. There are leaves lining the roadsides. The smell of newly-cut undergrowth attacks the nostrils as the dog and I walk on by.
The sky is blue as the sun comes up, a reward for early risers who scoot around the fields just after six. And then it turns grey overhead, just as the breakfast things are washed up.
The nation is in mourning at the loss of so many innocent people struck down for no good reason. It is hard to make any sense of events over the past few weeks.
And today, as rain lashes at the village hall windows and a trail of bunting hangs and flaps forlornly, in anticipation of afternoon tea on the village green this weekend, we’re having a general election. Who knows what the future holds? Conflict, misery and unhappiness. Where is the joy? Where is the sun and blue sky when you need it?
Even the gatepost looks confused.
Village opinion reflects the changeable weather. With up to 32 homes proposed for two fields on the village outskirts, many people – most of whom live nearby – are furious at what they see as an assault on the landscape, with concerns about drainage, increased traffic and a deft way of opening up more fields for housing.
There are others who are equally passionate in their belief that this village is long overdue some new homes, particularly affordable ones for local people. The village should not stagnate.