… A post from a couple of weeks ago… Thanks track angel in the North! …
Well folks, day five and I’m feeling stronger, fitter and lighter! Lighter could be because I’ve eaten all my food but never mind that! My track angels Ali and Jesse are here with me at Brookton hunt tonight having brought not only food for the next six days but also quiche, salad Turkish delight, cheese, bread, chocolate orange, red wine and spiced mead. Track feast! Happy dance! I didn’t hear them approaching and was engrossed in something when they showed up and hello rush of joy and delight to see them! One of the things I relish about the solitude of the track – which is certainly not always easy or fun _ is the wicked happiness of being with people again. And these, my dear friends at that. I got to tell them all my stories and we laughed a lot (well, I laughed a lot…they may have done some smiling and nodding).
After last night blowing a freezing gale up the Helena Balley, this evening is utterly still, as in not even a rustle up in the tops of the trees. A background hum of crickets textures the silence and one or two birds are calling in the violet – white sky.
Walking and thinking go so well together I might just get it happening more regularly when I get back. Today I was in the slip stream of an amazing series of thoughts that linked muscle innervation, (the principle of) the boy who cried wolf, the global energy crisis and the benefits of relaxing. I’ll tell it to you some time if your interested.
Walking is somehow the perfect occupation for a monkey mind like this one….just tiring enough, just occupying enough, just monotonous enough to make a clearing for a delightful freedom of spirit and new interesting, alchemical combinations of ideas. The trouble is writing them down coherently as they sometimes drift apart like dream fragments when consciously ‘thought down’ somehow. At any rate, the ones that are meant to stay will stay.
In the late morning today I came upon two white crosses near where the track met a road. One ‘for Steve’ and one ‘for Dad’. They both had photos wrapped in plastic and nailed on. Steve’s had his old accubra hat, a dream catcher and a card attached “dear Steve, today would have been your 60th birthday….anyway love, we’ll drink a beer to you today”. Dad’s one had a plaque with his name, born 1928 and “the old nigger” and two of his hankies wrapped in plastic and nailed on. As I took it in I started crying and then sobbing and bawled my little goose’s heart out almost the whole of the way to the next hut. I don’t quite know why, remembering my dad, yes, and wishing we’d have thought to make something like this…..so personal and so shining with human love and sadness and memory. How the objects of a loved one become so sacred…even the hankies.