Night time.

When we had the flat in Battersea walking outside, when it got dark, was magical. The lights on the river, the lights in houses, red buses with their lights on, restaurants, pubs, 24 hour shops – you get the picture – walking outside in the countryside in the dark requires a torch, sure footedness and some simple knowledge of the terrain.
In 1976 I was touring in Wales. We stayed in Crickhowell, the night walk down an avenue of trees terrified me. I was the London born, city girl, who had about as much knowledge of the countryside as an untrained astronaut. When I woke up in the little cottage, pulled the curtains, I screamed, we were at the foot of a mountain.
It couldn’t hurt me, it wasn’t going to fall down, but it was nothing like Aldgate, Kentish Town or Wapping. It took me at least seven years to get used to the rural England.
I’ve just come in from a small walk down the hill, round into the fields and down the avenue. Hugged my tree, turned round and walked home. It was cold. Cloudy so I couldn’t see the stars, an added bonus of no light pollution, past the Chestnut tree, alongside the sheep field, past the long houses with their shutters and back into the stove warmth of our Hobbit cottage.
Februry 22nd, and the one year anniversary of me breaking my elbow. The first day of Annus Horribilis. Nobody knows any more about what inflicts my pain, so I’m working on it with more meditation than a Pondicherry Ashram, kilo salt baths and pitch black walk abouts.
Tomorrow I will do more of the same.
I hope you are all blessed with good health.