The summer sun was beating down as I set off on the trail into Pound Wood nature reserve, maintained by Essex Wildlife Trust. Tall oak and beech trees lined the dirt path, their branches stretching out overhead to provide welcome pockets of shade.
I stopped for a moment to listen to the rich chorus of bird songs echoing through the woods. A robin's sweet, frantic notes blended with the harsh, repetitive ‘see-saw’ call of a great tit and the melodic phrases of a song thrush. Up ahead, I spotted a pair of nuthatches creeping along the trunk of an ancient oak, using their slender beaks to probe the crevices for insects.
As I ventured deeper into the reserve, the canopy opened up to reveal a sun-dappled clearing carpeted with wildflowers. Crimson red swayed beside drifts of white in the wood banks. Springs bluebells had well and truly vanished, reduced back into seed, while tall spikes of oxeye daisies danced in the gentle breeze. Bees and butterflies flitted from bloom to bloom, drunk on the rich nectar.
I skirted around the edge of the clearing, being careful not to trample the undergrowth. That's when I spotted the first signs of the elusive muntjac deer that make their home in these woods. Delicate hoof prints pressed into the soft earth – muddy patches where the sun had failed to reach - and a tuft of light brown fur clung to the thorny brambles.
A rustle in the bushes made me freeze in my tracks. I held my breath, not wanting to spook the creature. Slowly, almost achingly, a muntjac stepped out into the open, just a few meters away. They are always smaller than I imagine. Her liquid brown eyes regarded me cautiously. For a few magical moments, our gazes locked before she turned and bounded off deeper into the trees, her stumpy tail disappearing from view.
Streams of sunlight pierced the leafy canopy as I reluctantly turned and began to retrace my steps. As I neared the edge of the reserve, I crossed over into Tile Wood and along to the Little Havens Nature Reserve where you can pop out opposite Ann’s Mini Mart. It is a shop that stands on its own amongst houses and the trees. Many locals pop in daily for their pint of milk and a paper, and the traditional atmosphere is like going back in time in the best sense. I have been visiting since I was no age at all, delving into the pick and mix sweets with my pocket money in hand.
The tinkling of the bell above the door announced my entrance into the tiny shop, its shelves crammed with all sorts of tempting snacks and sugary delights.
'Afternoon! What can I get for you?' Ann’s son asked from behind the counter.
As usual, I picked up a cream soda from the small fridge, already anticipating that first deliciously fizzy sip. It really goes down well after a wild walk.
After a friendly chat, I set off for home with the silver can in hand (which I recycled, of course), my senses still alive with the sights, sounds, and smells of my wild summertime ramble through Pound Wood.
