There was a time, a time which now seems many years ago, when I commuted daily by car to another
town about 30 minutes away. The direct route took me straight up the A23, the main trunk road from Brighton to London (or London to Brighton if you prefer), but there were many days, especially during the summer months, when I detoured through narrow, country lanes running parallel to the main road. The journey may have taken a minute or three longer, but it was less stressful and the scenery was vastly superior. Nowadays, I rarely drive along England's country lanes so it is always a pleasure to take those quiet byways when we are in France. And as the route from our cottage to almost anywhere involves those backroads, I drive them almost every day. I did while we were over there last week - and it was a special treat. Around out village the verges are left to nature as much as possible, the growth being cut down only when it becomes necessary for drivers to see road signs.
There were clouds of cow parsley, great drifts of ox-eye daisies, ferns and foxgloves. In between could be seen sow thistles, milkwort, dandelions and numerous other flowers I was unable to identify.
Beyond the verges, green cornfields were slashed scarlet.