Mulled Vine

Henry loved his daily walks with Jess his Border Collie along the Kentish countryside, the veritable Garden of England. He breathed in the Spring air deeply, savouring the scent of young, vibrant wild flowers, while across ancient hedgerows flocks of sheep chewed grass and stared stupidly at one man and his dog. The path left the fields for a time, crossing a deserted railway, the old line between Leigh and Penshurst that once carried commuters up to London, rushing past the beauty that Henry absorbed at his leisure.

He followed the line dreamily for half a mile, collecting mushrooms while Jess bounded ahead searching for rabbits. She suddenly disappeared around a bend and Henry called for her but she did not respond, at least not initially, until frantic barks preceded the new tourist train that flattened the hapless wanderer and his leisurely day dreams.

On board ignorant travellers scarcely noticed the bump or the anguished dog as they gorged on over-priced snacks and rushed by pastures green, hurrying to see all there was to see.