The towpath is alive with the essence of summer

Florets from the saucer-sized elder flower. Forage now for elderflower cordial, or leave for elderberry wine later. Photograph: Yon Marsh Natural History/Alamy

The sky is a speedwell blue as I walk along the towpath of the Wheelock canal, which runs parallel to the river Weaver. Bottle-green and crimson narrowboats decorated with pots of geraniums and horseshoes pootle by. There are dandelions bold as brass in the grass. Cow parsley, or Queen Anne’s Lace, frills the bank. Peacock butterflies alight on a purple buddleia growing out of a stone wall flecked with burnt-orange and pale-grey lichen, showing their eye-spots.

I pass under a bridge and hear the rush of water from the lock; out the other side, an explosion of swallows alternating royal-blue backs and scarlet throats as they skim the water for insects. There is a female mallard, five balls of golden-brown fluff paddling furiously to keep up with her.

A bolt of turquoise-amber. I am always surprised how small the kingfisher is, but what an impression it makes, a jewel of a bird. Greek mythology tells that if a dead kingfisher is hung by twine it acts as a weather cock, turning its beak in the direction of the wind. There is little wind today, just a breeze wafting lines of washing in the yards of the cottages backing onto the canal.

Porches on the Towpath: bike trail right out the door!

A white horse grazes in a field of buttercups; further on, cows with treacle eyes chew grass, pausing to gawp at families in the nearby beer garden, pale flanks rising and falling, ears and tails twitching, the occasional soft fall of muck and moo.

There are cyclists, joggers, dog walkers and a gang of small boys on scooters. “Watch out for the stingers!” one cries, as they whizz past. A patch of nettles flare like green flames. Dog roses, pink as bubble-gum with sunshine-yellow stamens, wander wantonly over the hawthorn hedge, scrambling into trees.

Then I see the saucer-sized, creamy-white elderflowers, the essence of summer. Celtic lore has it that fairies will appear to those who stand under an elder tree on Midsummer’s Eve.

I think about foraging – canal pathways can be excellent places to look for wild food. Yet I leave the flowers; there will be berries for wine, come autumn time.