We were out before daylight again this morning, the dog and I. The human half of this pre-dawn duo gratefully shrouded in a padded coat and borrowed flat cap, looking rather like Bibendum. The smaller, but more energetic half bounding along joyfully, breathing steam like a miniature dragon. A resilient creature, carrying frost on the wafting tail and whiskers, in, I realised, a resilient landscape.
We walked down the lane towards the hamlet of Wormstone, so tiny it gets a mere one liner in Wikipedia. Parish records indicate the name is derived from the Old English for Wærmund’s farm, but I prefer to dream and wonder if there was an older, more interesting story of dragons and sacred stones behind the name. And why not? Man has always dreamed and wondered.
Still, even the name Wærmund takes the history back well over a thousand years, and I crossed the path…
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