The quieter road.

More plodging about today; scarcely another soul abroad, just the red kites, their prey, and the occasional random muddy dog.  

I wonder if red kites soar like eagles, or if each bird has a different way of flying? 

Steep runs of steps, flattened out here, but definitely felt whilst walking. 

Spring definitely breaking through; clearings carpeted with daffodils and the hints of other bulbs to come. 

Blossoms, birdsong, and the silence which comes when everyone else has read the weather forecast and checked out the clouds, and is choosing to spend lunchtime sitting in the car park watching the skies and listening to the radio. 

Leaving me, temporary queen of all I can see, sole inhabitant of these ancient woods. Lovely. 

Marching, walking, stumbling, panting, getting up a good pace and then swapping speed for introspection and admiration of the ever present moss. 

Mud on my boots, wind in my hair, and thoughts shuffling themselves into some kind of proper order.

God is good. Always. Some days, that's all there is to hold onto. Thankfully, that's always enough. 

Tia