04 April 2012
Most people wouldn’t call Kenwood wild. It backs onto Hampstead Heath as its stately and classical neighbour, visited by a certain class of well-heeled, Boden wearing, chocolate-Labrador-clad family.
I’m not any of those, but I do love the magic of Hampstead Heath, its big enough for a Sunday morning dose of medicinal romping without having to venture too far. My children are ecstatic by the sheer amount of dogs to chase and I’m just thankful that we’re out of the house.
I’m always amused by the size of those following a personal pilgrimage, we smile in sympathy by the ponds and politely wait in turn for all our offspring to walk the same fallen tree trunk. It seems hard to find respite in such a well visited place, but there’s a calm in the hushed voices. We may not turn out to church anymore but we can all be found searching for the same sense of peace trudging across the heath.
Beyond Kenwood, is wild fauna and undulating hills, tough on the jogger, fun for the small child. Stand in the middle of the heath and you’ll hear a burr of dogs barking, soft voices and excitable children. Occasionally the background noise is interrupted by a rogue plane, a timely reminder that this is the capital city and mayhem exists a few miles down the road.
Post by our lovely guest blogger mustgetoutmore.
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