on the trail

She hummed to herself. No tune in particular, just the odd snippet of melody. Her own personal soundtrack. Sometimes it turned to a whistle. The trail turned north and then east with the wind gentle from the west, lightly pressing her back and tussling her dark hair around the sides of her face. She shoved her hands in her pockets. The air hummed back with a cacophony of countryside sounds. The rustle of hedgerow, the waves of grain, the scurry of small things and the odd bird call gave her a backing track. Her beat up trainers kicked the odd pebble into the tall grass. The wind calmed and the sun emerged from behind the perfect cotton ball cloud. She took her hands out of her pockets and tied her jumper around her waist. She kept humming and whistling.