Caught in the Rain

This afternoon I walked down the steep hill that is Bridge Hill, passing the gates to a graveyard,  I hadn't realised was there. I walked in to have a look, I didn't know any of the names who lay there, but I always find cemeteries an interesting part of our social history.

     


The grave that stood out for me today was a young man, 23 years old, a Pilot in the Second World War, killed in action in 1944. So young like many of those who sacrificed their lives for us. I think that it is important to remember them all, to thank them, respect them and their families and to never forget that if it wasn't for men and women like this young man, our lives might have been very different indeed. 

I left the cemetery feeling humbled. I had intended to do the full three mile circular route, But I got side-lined.

I decided to take an alternative route; the sign said Public Footpath, but in effect you walk through two very muddy fields, divided by a lovely meandering stream.

The temperature today was a bit unpredictable, I was cold, then hot then cold again taking my coat on and off as though the wind and the sun were having that age old argument to see which one could make me take my coat off first. 

I sat for a while admiring the running stream and the trees that shadowed it. I took some photos wanting to the feel of the stream. The meandering of its curves, the sounds of its small falls, my mind drifting at its metaphors for life's twists and turns, and of time moving always onwards.

After a while I pulled myself up the steep incline of the field to reach the gate leading out on to the lane. But only to find that the gate was locked by an old rusty padlock and two lines of barbed wire at the top of the gate that prevented me from clinging over.  The gaps between the gate's bars were far too narrow for me to climb through so my only option was to head back down the hill. I couldn't see another exit from the field, so I headed back to the road.

I noticed the clouds were getting darker, the colour of the trees and hedges more vibrant in this light, but I knew for sure that the rain was about to arrive. I wasn't mistaken. By the time I reached the first road junction, the heavens opened. The clouds poured buckets of water on my head. I didn't mind. I hid my camera inside my coat, put up my hood and felt invigorated by the fierceness of the rain's anger.

Bridge Hill is a steep hill but it was the only way home. I stopped a few times on my way up but felt quite proud when I arrived at the top! I'm not very fit, I love to walk, but I don't exercise enough, I really should. 



 

I arrived home, a hot bath to welcome me.