A bit late but finally got round to posting...
And so my Sunday long run has come around again. The temperature was still higher than normal for this time of year and the wind was still blowing. Just for a change I could see the stars as I peeped through my curtains which brought with it a surge of excitement for a fair weather run. A small breakfast was had and then the seemingly long wait before I could run without fear of carrying a lead balloon in my stomach for the duration.
Off I went into the gloomy grey of the morning surprised to see a fair amount of blue sky although by now the evidence of the stars had faded into obscurity. Another quiet morning. Turning into the lane I heard the distinctive noise of ravens having a good old natter and as I headed upwards I noted how the almost constant rain had washed away the leaves and twigs of previous storms to leave a road almost pristine with its damp sheen. And the wind, so often in my face, was behind me gently encouraging me up the slope as if a loving arm had been placed around my shoulder to guide me onwards. It is in such moments that my thoughts turn ever to my love and it makes me smile to think of you so. To think that you are still with me. And on I went with that warm glow inside me and the feeling that no matter how time marches on my heart stands still. Bittersweet. Sigh. Deep breath. Return to the world. Past the house with the carefully painted blue cartwheel leaning midway along its oh so pink wall and blackbird shouting in alarm. And on up, with the wind still behind me until I reach the village where empty swings sway gently in the breeze, sleepy eyed people stirring in their sleepy eyed houses and a lone walker waving a cheery good morning as I pass.
Then I turn to face the mountains as the road takes a downwards turn and the wind is once more in my face with a brief sharp shower saying wake up and look! The grey silhouette of the mountains topped with a bank of fluffy grey cotton wool clouds in front of a thin veil of solid cloud tinged pink from the rising sun was a beauty to behold. And as I ran I watched the colour wash out of the veil and turn to grey as the tops of the clouds flashed their silver lining for a while longer. Down the quiet lanes, brooks still swollen with the rain and this road still bearing the pocked scars from being a temporary water course, feet slapping on the wet surface. On past the standing stone. I could see a pheasant rummaging in the verge looking for a tasty breakfast and was almost next to him when he rose up in noisy alarm flying over the hedge and almost half the length of the field before he finally settled. And just as I was about to round a bend a weasel came bounding round in the opposite direction and leapt into the hedge, almost appearing as if it hadn't seen me at all but was just going about his business. How lucky was that!
After that all was quiet again apart from a couple of redwing darting over the hedge and the promise of blue sky and sunshine was once more being shrouded by a grey blanket. As I neared home the odd large drop of rain splattered its promise of more to come. And come it did, in swathes of windblown torrential sheets of water almost as soon as I had closed the door behind me.