I rather pride myself on my ability to walk at a gallop up hill. I do this partly for exercise and partly because I’m keen to get to the more solitary and less cultivated parts of my walk. But today I woke with the temperament of a sloth and at this slower pace I was able to feed my gently undulating senses with hitherto unnoticed delights!
These past couple of days I have found myself being pulled away from the immediacy of each unfolding day. An old voice whispers in my ear: It’s time to prepare for work again. The balance between allowing and planning is being tested. I find that when I arrive at a place of perfect equilibrium it’s hard not to try to hold on to it, which in turn leads to a sense of dissonance. But it is easier to re-enter the secret garden of now if I don’t go to war with myself and simply let the nagging voice be. In this way I fall back into harmony again.
I start by walking bare foot in the park, ( no relation to the Neil Simon play). Feeling the turf beneath me, prickly grass and twigs digging into my seasoned feet, revs me up! The light in the garden bordering the top end of the park enchants: Sharp contrasts from a cut-glass sun. And a cluster of red buds about to burst on the horse chestnut.
Along Boscobel Rd North new sets of blossoms on bushes, red, yellow blue.
Through the cul de sac cut into Colinswood Drive with its large gazing houses, I look to the left and rediscover the footpath to the allotment, a big hedge cutting it off from public view; just a glimpse of burgeoning plots through a padlocked gate. This is a secret garden inhabited by others. Not mine.
Some wildflowers are fading and others springing up. Long curving grasses wave at the end of the alley.
Down West Hill Rd I stop off at the Burton pyramid/memorial and lie on the stone bench shaped like a kidney enjoying the sun. I read the inscription on a piece of granite planted near the bench and realise that, along with a taller slab, they are linked to the closed church. Sentinels of Scripture.
Nearing the end of the road a father holds hands with his small son who skips happily along.
Then round the bend a view of the Masonic Hall and the back of Marine Court shacked up together. They make an odd couple.
