That Ways, Anyway.

In the west, rainclouds are breaking up over the village and the evening sun is  chastening those that stopped believing (during the winds of the last twenty-four hours) that Spring is upon us.

Beyond, misty blue mountains rise above everything.

People in the village hurry to and from the shop, bread and wine for the evening.

But from the shop no-one can see the mountains.

Only if you climb the hill by the lake, and stand in the open meadow beside the pine forest will you view their splendour.

Yet, they don’t exist.

To the west lie only the plains, and beyond, only the surfing waves of the Atlantic.

The traveller stands in the meadows and considers the mountains. 

If they don’t exist, she should turn away.

But she is tempted to climb them.

How far are they?

A days walk?

A lifetimes?

She is headed that way, anyways.

Anyway, those ways are hers.

Only the traveller can see them.

Only the traveller can go there.

She will.

 

A crisp, a fire and a van.

I’d like a crisp.

Maybe a handful.

But, I don’t have any.

It’s still early enough to walk or cycle to the village, but it’s Monday.

They don’t open the shop on Monday.

The day of rest.

I could drive to the town, but for a packet of crisps?

Hardly a justifiable carbon footprint there.

So, I’ll just drink this wine unaccompanied by anything except the sun-fall, the birdsong and the soft stillness of the last day of March.

It has been a perfect day.

I’m glad I spent it with….

My three cats, my wife and a tortoise.

The tortoise spent a lot of the day sunbathing under a daisy.

My wife in the shade under a parasol.

Myself in the forest, cutting and clearing.

I lit a fire.

It’s still glowing.

Tonight I will carry some of the hot ash to the fireplace in the inside outside room and start a fire there.

I will fall asleep in the van, the first time of the year.

I spent part of the day removing the spiders.

One of the cats will join me.