Monthly Archives: January 2016

Winter Landscape

Frosty Morning at Croome Park

Frosty Morning at Croome Park

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The Other Side of The Trek

Each day I set a goal, and that involves some planning because it’s important that I achieve it. I let people know where and when to expect me because that’s not only common decency, it’s a safety factor.
You go bounding off like a dog let off the leash. I often have no idea where you are and I worry in case of accident happens.
I like to keep moving, enjoying a steady pace.
You keep on stopping to admire the scenery, or you’ve stopped to look at a flower you’ve spotted in the hedgerow. Or, worst of all, you’re fiddling about taking a photograph. Or several.
I like to keep to the designated path. It’s being responsible.
You’re more likely to be somewhere else, trespassing on private land, and not abiding by the code of conduct for walkers. It may seem fun for you, but one day there’s going to be trouble.
I’m prepared for all weathers, for whatever might happen. That means keeping my batteries charged, and taking stuff with me, just in case. I’m not overloaded; I can manage what I have.
You just haven’t thought it through what could happen out here away from civilisation. You might twist your ankle, or fall down a ditch and not be able to get help. And if you need something, you’ll go scrounging around until you find it.
I like to acknowledge and greet other walkers. I feel we share something which cannot be put into words, and so there’s no need to be nosey or rude nor get bogged down in irrelevant personal details.
You can’t hold back, telling everyone about your personal life and ambitions. So it’s a really good thing you’re not going to meet these people again,
I know my limits and I know my needs. So if I’m going to be able to keep up the pace tomorrow, I need to have rest times, so that I can feel good if I’m going to enjoy the next stage.
You just don’t care.
© 2016 Peter Young

(It was suggested that the other point of view be expressed in order to achieve some kind of balance with the previous post.)

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On Track

GR65 Pilgrim 130925 1
I was walking, in my usual way, rather too fast, knowing that later on I’d probably be a little breathless, but aware that there would be times when I could slow down and enjoy the scenery.
And you were consulting the guidebook, pondering over the map, planning how long before the next stop and whether you’d make it in time.
Given the length of my stride, I encountered, greeted and overtook others on the track.
You were wondering whether you would run into those people again – you know, the ones you met back there, who seemed interesting at first, but soon bored you so much you found an excuse to take time out, long enough for them to get away.
I just kept on walking. Enjoying the wide sky and the rusty swing of the kissing gate. Relishing the brief panoramic outlook from the top of the stile, before the cautious descent into the muddy patch where people had landed and splashed many times before.
And you came to a wall and wondered how you had missed the gate, and how you were going to get over it. And you struggled with the kissing gate because your rucksack was too bulky and it wouldn’t let you into the neutral space in the middle, so your pack had to be handed over and thrown so as to avoid getting deep in the mud. And on the other side you struggled once more re-harnessing your rucksack which unbalanced you and sent you staggering.
I enjoyed my stroll through the wild forest, finding long-forgotten paths and even making my own. I had time to notice the flick of the wren in the hedgerow, the raucous sound of the rooks black against the sky, the flash of squirrels scampering up and round to safety.
And you had your eyes fixed to the path, following the footprints of those who had also trodden this way for their own reasons. You were constantly looking for waymarks to tell you that you were on the right track, the approved way, the numbered route. Your map was closely consulted for further confirmation and reassurance.
I was taking deep breaths and swallowing the fresh air. I took pleasure in the dance of the filtered sunlight, noticing the lengthening shadows on the buildings as they appeared over the brow of the hill, the low sun reflected from their window panes.
And you saw the hostel as a time for taking off your boots, losing the bowed encumbrance of your backpack. You wanted to wash away the day with a hot shower, have time to plan the next stage.
And I was sitting there waiting, watching the sunset, enjoying the moment, and the next moment when you arrived, and hoping that you would feel as much as home as I did.

© Peter Young 2016

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