It started with a goldfinch, making its pearl like chirping from the tree, just outside St Cuthbert’s Church, Darlington.
Ordinary Goldfinch.
Making me take notice at it.
And ended with a Bumble bee scrambling for the pollen in the blossom in the trees opposite.
And in between that distance of less than 10 metres, I walked. Slowly.
No deadlines. No expectation. No Time.
Slow Wonder Walking.
Following the path along the river Skerne.
Slow, almost the same pace as the river itself.
Could I see the otters? Maybe.
Walk slow. Notice
Everyday wonder in the midst of the ordinary.
The bee springing from the nettles
The wren launching itself from the base of the tree trunk to a branch then shouting at me in its loud voice.
The Dogs that didnt give me dog hugs. The Owners that smiled when they didnt.
Slow step.
Surprise after Surprise.
Unexpected red breasted Merganser. Female, on her own.
Grey Wagtails, fluttering their uniquely yellow underbellies.
The joyful playful shriek of the girl toddler running away from her pretend chasing daddy, squealing and playing with utter delight. Her all black romper suit covered in a myriad of rainbow hearts. Joy.
I wondered that I used to run, run away, or need to go fast.
But now slow.
Contented slowness.
Embracing peace.
Shades. Streaks of sunlight.
Slow walking
When we walk slow, we give the opportunity for a new person to grow inside of us
Paulo Coelho
Who is that person?
That same joyous toddler full of curiosity and play
Probably
Sounds of play
Sounds of nature
The inner feelings of bliss
Some kind of bliss
Some kind of calm
Rest.
Bridge.
Wonder at reflections.
Watch the water ripple, make them fuzzy
Watch and wonder.
Stare.
Be.
In the moment, of accepting the magic of the ordinary.
10 minutes of staring at willow branches fluttering in the water.
interrupted by the joy of pooh sticks.
Wonder, magic, delight of floating sticks.
And beating grandpa.
Boy running. Boy in wonder.
Wonder.
Awe.
Everything is magic.
Everything is open.
Slow.
Walking, back the same way.
Temptation to think, ive been here before, must go some other route
But I haven’t, I haven’t been there in this moment.
“Always we have to look, Today suddenly a flower is the reason for your surprise, tomorrow it may be the same flower, just with a different colour, because of the age of the flower”
Paulo Freire
Resist the urge to need to go somewhere new, do the same, do it slow again
I am 20 minutes older. Inside. Or Younger. How does this new person feel time
It just is.
Feeling its way in the moment.
Though suddenly…
Oh look what’s this, a thought, a thought about tomorrow, a thought about something I need to do and suddenly, my feet have grinded up a gear…. subconscious speeding up,
Lost from the moment, into thought.
Noticed.
I saw you.
I saw you thought.
But I am here.
And I stopped you.
Because you are not for now.
This is now.
Wonder is now
Slow is now.
So I made you stop. For now is wonder time.
And those dancing grey wagtails captivated once again
And the gold crest in the tree
The couples with their beautiful babies in pushchairs, all full of life and energy
Noticing the joy.
Noticing my feet slowly placing one foot in front of the other.
feeling. Breathing. Heart filled with joy.
That new person finding life
That new person safe in wonder
Smiling, arms outstretched
Whistling Heaven.
When I walk among the hills.
Walking slow.
Walking in wonder.
Awakening.
In the moment.
Seeing in the midst, glory in the everyday.
Timeless unbridled joy.
Being fully alive.
Peace from within.
Return to the town.
Slow. (but slightly quicker crossing the road)
Calm.
Bliss.
An avenue of blossom, beauty amongst buildings.
It all started with a Goldfinch.
It ended with a bumblebee.
A blissful walk that went nowhere, but everywhere in between.
Wonder at Wonder. Awe is something awesome.
Some kindness of bliss.
Wordless, thoughtless, timeless.
“What remains will be the love that moves the heavens, the stars, people, flowers, insects, the love that obliges us all to walk across the ice despite the danger, that fills us with joy and with fear, and gives meaning to everything.”
The day started like the last 3 on my summer camping trip to the Yorkshire dales.
Grey. Drizzly. Wet
But, after breakfast and tidying up, the smallest semblance of blue sky emerged. Just the tiniest bit.
The tiniest blue in a sky full of grey, after a day of mist and cloud.
Sometimes it just takes the tiniest speck of blue.
Sometimes, we can barely see it
Sometimes we have to walk, even in the midst.
Sometimes our tiniest blue is something that we cling on to to keep going, it might be our children, our faith..just something that tells us that walking is just about possible, and worthwhile.
The tiniest blue
Do I walk?
Will I get wet? Hurt? Where will I go? Who will be there?
How many questions to overthink before making a move. Thinking is the enemy of flow. Life is for living, not watching others live it.
So I started.
Walking.
The map looked flat. But then again walks aren’t maps.
When walking, the path gave me decisions, like above, 3 splintered off routes, often a muddy one, rocks or gravel, and what I realised some were better for downhill than up. They got me to where I needed to be, but I still had to choose
Some paths were so worn down they’d been replaced, laid in concrete or wood to stop me from slipping, outside help to aid the walker.
Clouds gathered in the distance, sweat pouring from me. Breathing becoming difficult. Hard work. But I was walking.
Every now and then a moment to stop. Take off layers, it was warm, drink and eat.
Signposts that told me how far I’d come. A mark to say, 2 miles done.
We need that don’t we. Someone to say, it’s been hard to walk, but look at where you are, and how far you’ve been. Even if you’re drenched in sweat and there’s walking to do. Stop and notice.
You got this far. Be proud of yourself …..Keep going…
Other things to stop and notice, purple heather, a buzzard in the sky, and somehow energy returns when something natural and beautiful takes our attention. Gratitude moments.
Walking along. Walking alone. Listening.
A flicker of unexpected brightness, a surprise, universe conspiring, something new to focus on for a split second, watching the flight and beauty of something so graceful as the Wheatear, a moment to feel treasure, to see, to hear that chirp. An unexpected gift.
A warning ahead. Previous walks have had bulls in fields, cows even, and even this week I had to avoid a herd right by the gate. But this one had to be walked past. There was only one path. No way to avoid. Must walk through. Keep walking.
Breathe, I can do this one. I know what I need to do. Im less scared. Its been tamed, by many other walkers as they’ve been past.
In the vastness of the landscape, and the pursuit of the climb, small details can get missed, the thistle, bumblebees and wild flowers are scattered around. Ancient limestone rocks strut out from the peat and grass, and attract balls of bright green moss, their intricate weave capturing all the nutrients they can, a myriad of depth perched on the rock
How long has this moss been here for? It looks fresh, but could be weeks, months, years old, and that’s the thing, on the walk, ancient, recent and new knowledge and ideas can help to shape our path. As we look into them the myriad of depth gives us life, encouragement to walk on.
Climbs up to gates that seem hard work, and then a view of the next section, the next climb, and a gate and stile to climb over, and another moment to pause, to take it in, to see how far you’ve come, and also the destination ahead. Legs getting ever more tired, steps hard work, even if they’ve been easily laid out, one foot in front of the other. No going back.
Every now and then a guide present, that map, or someone descending or going faster and slightly ahead. We all go at our own pace.
Another stop, another drink, a moment to learn, a moment to take it the surroundings, a moment to breathe before the next climb. Another decision to keep going, with 4 miles of walking in me, 1 more to go and it’s steep, the last bit. But it’s the bit I’m here for.
The Summit in sight, still shrouded from view, steps to take when walking, ive got this far, how far to go, and will this tired, sweaty body make it up the last bit. How tired am I? How long shall I rest for? What do I need to make the next step?
Its water, a trail bar, and a banana time.
Every step I’m taking Every move I make feels Lost with no direction My faith is shaking
But I, I gotta keep trying Gotta keep my head held high
There’s always gonna be another mountain I’m always gonna wanna make it move Always gonna be an uphill battle Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose Ain’t about how fast I get there Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side It’s the climb
Miley Cyrus, The Climb
Life at the base of the mountain.
In an amongst the rocks, a circular pool. A swamp of vivid colour.
Dragonfly dancing around, and rock pipits flutter.
Views await as I get to the edge of the mountain, a valley comes into view. The other side.
Ribblehead Valley, and the glorious Ribblehead Viaduct. Until now hidden by the mountain itself. And still hidden by the clouds, which I’m now almost in.
A moment to recognise that there are sometimes many paths to get to the same destination, some snake the valleys, some tantalise on what seems the precipice, some, seem like more of a slow long gradual walk, but paths towards the summit none the less.
But these clouds need walking though, to get to the top, as there’s not far. Encouraged by the new view, and within reach of the summit, one more steep push, one more step in front of the other, one more decision per step, which rock, which gulley, which position shall I put my foot, what’s going to grip, on those last few steps, steps to the summit, and then…
Not a peak, but a large platform, a flat space, with views of other distant heights, Pen-y-ghent peeking in the clouds and others far off.
So I made it, to the top, to the summit, 723 metres up. And that is there the sun came out. For virtually the first time all morning. The first blue sky, since the blue sky when I started. A space to sit, and gather with other fellow climbers, compare notes of the directions they took, their starting points, their perils and journeys, to admire the view, and take selfies with that most important of markers. The trig point at the top.
Elation
Relief
I made it.
And then the descent. Realising the difference of gravity on the tired limbs, its as if the earth calls me back down, pulling me down the mountain. Lighter feet, but careful feet on the rocks, mud and paths.
Almost free flowing back down. Light. Free.
Even as the rain really did come.
Walking feels light. Less in the bag, more in the stomach. Every step the possibility of another, but much quicker, easier.
The climb worth it for the climb. Worth it for the views. Worth it to have the free walk back. Worth it to have seen, lived, felt and overcome.
We make the road by walking
Horton, Friere.
Some paths have already been made.
But we still need to walk them.
Live them, one step at time.
Starting from the first.
Sometimes we need to walk.
The tiniest blue sky in the mist at the base.
The tiniest blue sky at the top.
The journey in-between
Freedom, achievement and energy on the way back down.
James Ballantyne 