Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud.

There was a let-up in the rain on Sunday. And the wind dropped. I looked outside.

At first I was afraid... Oh God, what's that big burning thing in the sky?? The sky's on fire!! We're all doomed!! But then I remembered that I used to see that fiery sky more often - and it was the sun. Whew. Panic over.

I did some laundry and hung it out to dry. The roofer came over and started the roof repairs.

It was sunny, mild - almost warm in fact. I decided to enjoy it while it lasted because I knew it wouldn't last long. (I was right - Monday was back to torrential downpour.) And so I decided to go for a walk. Perhaps down by the (now peaceful) sea.

Unfortunately the entire population of South-West England decided to do the same thing at the same time. The sea-front was packed. The riverside path was packed. Even the cliff path (the bit that was still open to the public and not roped-off because of the danger of further landslips) was crowded.

I gave up on that and settled on a walk along the footpath north of the city. I knew that would be pretty quiet because it loops around in a semi-circle and crosses open countryside across several hectares of fields. Given we've had almost constant rain for between six to eight weeks, so much that the ground is saturated, waterlogged, and can't absorb any more rain, so it runs off in torrents, it was bound to be a little muddy. That would keep most casual walkers away.

A little muddy??

Well, that was optimistic. It was pure mud. Up to your eyebrows, almost liquid, mud. Mud to gladden the heart of the grumpiest hippopotamus looking for mud to roll in. An ocean of mud.

I had wellies on. Made no difference - the mud was deeper than they were. My jeans were filthy practically to the waist by the end of the walk.

It was great. There were no people daft enough to be there apart from me. The squelching, nearly losing a boot, splashing, soggy mud made me laugh. It was fun.

The fields were empty, bordered by trees, bare of leaves, stark against a gorgeous sky - that deep shade of blue you usually only get in late autumn and early spring - the only sound the cawing of crows overhead. I wondered if they cry more in winter or if it's just that you notice them more because there are fewer songbirds about to drown the croak.

Is there any sound more lonely than a crow's harsh cry above a barren field??

It was a beautiful day. A great walk. And I came home feeling content, refreshed, and rested. What more could you ask of a winter Sunday??

See you next week. Goodnight and may your God/s go with you.


Ze

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