...one must have freedom, sunshine, and a little flower!
Hans Christian Anderson knew what he was talking about...and I had lots of flowers on my Sunday run day.
Back home from our adventures in the tin-tent, still a tad bruised and battered, but healing well. I ran, as some of you know, last Tuesday before my fall, a longish, slowish, 8K and I ran again on Friday, just to see if everything still worked. It did; a gentle, as our lovely Irishprincess would say, jogette, along the glorious lanes surrounding High Onn. Out early and into the morning and back to the tin tent after about 40 minutes later.4.8 K in 26 minutes...( Walked back slowly... :)) not too shabby for this old, slightly chipped snail!
But yesterday... back home to fields familiar and a glorious morning, I knew my legs would work!
So, out into the sunshine, paint-box blue sky, and the faintest streaks of white stretching like strands of pulled wool across the empty heavens. The sun, already warm on my face as I headed out for a warm up walk. I walked quickly and briskly for a full ten minutes, just needing to make sure my muscles were relaxed and ready to run. Up to the Seagull roundabout and the edge of the golf course, where I turned. Lots of cars outside the clubhouse and the early club-swingers, striding out, yellow and green jumpered towards the flagged greens.
As I turned, I started to run, slowly, steadily, down the empty pavement, towards the station, across the bridge and up the lane. Rookery wood a thick mass of green now, the shrubs beneath the rooks' trees, stretching leafy green fingers upwards , trying to touch the tantalisingly low leafed branches of those trees. The distinctive scent of wild garlic and the heavy richness of the deeper undergrowth, filling my senses as I ran, without any difficulty up the track to the fields. The track has been, as I mentioned in a previous post, gravelled with a warm-coloured gravel type shingle. Pleasant to look at but hard to run on, so, I slowed right down, in order to stay upright! Along the track into the fields. The majestic Oak, resplendent now in a thick green cloak, huge branches hidden and the base of the trunk circled with the white nettles and Meadow Sweet, a fitting footstool for a great King.
Along the field track, dry as a bone and hard underfoot, easy to turn an ankle, and I was grateful upon reaching the thicker grass beyond, despite the wetness, which soaked into my feet from the dewy stalks. What a difference a day makes, and in this case a week. The grasses are thick now, and catch my ankles... as I headed up to the Steam Railway track. Everywhere I look.. there is something to see...different grasses, hidden flowers and as I head over the track, the field beyond is covered with a crop, the green spikes and shoots of which, are nearly, now, a foot high. I could barely see the track through to the far lane. Two skylarks, call, so high above they are like dots in the air, the hidden pond, I know it is there, but completely hidden with the dark green lushness of vegetation around it.
I turned at the far field gate and headed back, over the Steam railway track and turned up the field. This field simply takes the breath away. Buttercups. Everywhere Buttercups, bright-eyed gold, mingled in a green wrap of tall grasses. Happy faces in the morning sunshine, as someone once said, "... the earth laughs, in flowers...". It is difficult to move quickly, but I had no wish to, savouring each second of the run. As I carried on, up the field to the top lane, I was breathing easily, sucking in the buttery sweetness of the air, running slowly and carefully, very much at the side edge, and trying to avoid treading on any flowers! Sometimes, when I run, the running just happens. No thought of pace, or breathing, or speed or time. What is there, around me, is all I need. This was one of those runs.
When I reached the top lane, I decided to stop. I took a photograph. This was too special a moment to trust to memory. I squeezed, then, through the narrow gap and ran back down the lane to the village. Folk stirring now; one of the end cottages has a sold sign on it, the bicycle at the end cottage has got tumbling plants in the basket now, and balloons tied to the handlebars, a celebration of something. As I pass the wood again at the bottom, and look over the closed gate, the words of a poem just flick into my mind.." They shut the road to the woods, seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again and now you would never know, there was once a road through the woods..." On along past the station and a slow, slow walk back up the hill and home.
A simple run, no great distance, just about 5K maybe. As I walked home, I thought how fortunate I am, to have found the joy I have in running and having the strength to do it. Those of you who are well used to my endless rambles, know that my head is often full of words...no exception here..
.
Round my weird old head, the random thoughts go...
" Try to start each day with a grateful heart and enjoy the simple things. "
I did
PS
For those who don't know me... this is an Oldfloss ramble...When I run, I have to write, I simply cannot help myself
I am clearly going addled! 
Forget speed or distance - sometimes location is enough
Is there anyone out there old enough...
Running: not enough camaraderie?
Warm enough for shorts!
Not getting near enough to 5k
