Managed to fit in two unexpected walks on Monday evening:
1. Lancaster Station to Lancaster & Morecambe College. 40 minutes including getting lost – finding myself too far along the river – heading back towards the town – past a closed bridge then over a rather graceful modern one, along a cycle path and then a main road – marching in fearsome heat, but gratified to be moving faster than the traffic, and saving the public purse a £5 taxi fare.
2. LMC to Station – 25 minutes – straight to the nice bridge – river silver, air cooler – better route over hill by castle – looking back along the river as I rushed along, at fields river and roofs, an English scene, reminding me for some reason of Pistol in Henry V: ‘To England will I steal, and there I’ll steal’. (But I didn’t nick anything – in fact I saved the taxpayer another fiver – like Gordon Brown in reverse.)
Another time I might try getting the train to Morecambe and walking back – the map makes it look as if a cycle path will take me virtually door to door.
Spring visibly exploding all around – ‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower’ unusually forceful this time around – described by John Hee in a bittersweet post.
‘All this useless beauty’ leaves me curiously untouched – travelling green blossom lanes with a disconnected gaze – perhaps it’s my age, a sense of impending ecological doom, fear of insupportable losses or accidental consumption of a drink spiked with black ice-liquid from the night side of the moon. Or random acedie, compounded with pollen.
Hopefully a weekend under canvas in the Venus Flytrap will help me reconnect, let go of stuff beyond my reach, get back in the groove.