Walking Alone

Walking Alone

I will be honest about this. The result from the EU referendum vote last week has put me into a feeling of despair. It feels like a bereavement. I don't know how to act, I feel I need time to digest the information and space in which to do it.

On the day, I felt numb with grief. I didn't know what to do, so I went to a favourite place in nature that I know well and contemplated my lot. I walked up the Salt Way alone for once. It is normally at this time of year that I lead a ceremonial procession up, along this way, followed by others to celebrate Midsummer with a small fire, sharing blessings, gratitude and hope for the future.

The Salt Way path

But this time I was alone; the path was much narrower than normal as the farmer had just cleared a tiny path through which made me feel smaller than I was, as the barley grew tall, rising up either side of me and creating a cosy, safe little way up to the top of the hill. This was just what I needed, a slow walk, barefoot up the slope, watching the crop sway in the wind, bending this way and back, listening to its swish, noting that as I walked the car noise became less, or at least less noticeable to me as I walked slowly, mindfully up to the top of the ridge and sat down.

Towards the top of the ridge.

This time sitting by myself but in the trace of the ring that we have created up there after all these years. The trace may be just be in my mind as a memory; fragments of memories that I treasure of those past fire ceremonies, but I felt connected to that spot, that place and started to look out to the distant horizons and relax.

Sitting, looking out.

Surrounded by waving grasses and meadow flowers.

As I looked out, over and into nature, my breathing became more conscious. I was sitting amongst tall swaying grasses and shorter meadow flowers with flying insects busy overhead and other insect life scurrying past my feet. Seagulls flew higher, over the undulating landscape, taking a straight path to their destination. My perspective on life and the beings living in it grew bigger.

The bigger picture and a tiny flying insect.

I knew it was time to retrace my steps back home when I no longer felt the fear in my belly but a pure delight and gratitude for being 'right here, right now'.

I still don't know how this 'Brexit' situation can be sorted, there doesn't seem to be any plan, but I know that my plan is to walk daily, to be outside in nature more, to connect with other like-minded persons and enjoy the here and now.

The path will become clear.

All will be well.

For another artists view on the EU referendum, look at the blog of Jackie Morris, her entry 'A rock and a hard place', 28/6/16,  it reads beautifully.

For your information, my next Netwalking event is on the 8th of July 2016.

 Please call or text me on 07432679164 or clare@people-to-place.co.uk

Out for a Walk

Out for a Walk

The best thing about our temperate and changeable climate at the moment is when, at long last, sunshine bursts through cloud and blue skies appear overhead. We usually have drier weather over here in the South East corner of England than the West and Kent is known for being one of the driest counties, so imagine my dismay when the run up and duration of the half term holidays was cloudy, grey, windy and very cold. This is apt and more expected weather for the dulled skies and morose tone of early February or mid November, but not for the start of June and whilst the West of the UK enjoyed unusually hot temperatures and bright strong sunshine, we shivered and put the heating back on.



The sun setting this week, more to the east off of the Isle of Sheppey.

Sun setting a few weeks ago, over the end of the island.


 

We wrapped up and went for quick walks, mainly at the end of the day when the sunsets still glowed and we hoped for some sunshine the next day, but generally we stayed inside envying our friends who lived or were holidaying in the West country and wondering just how bright and 'outdoorsy' life could be if we lived in another place: South Africa, Australia or even closer, Spain. But then the weather broke and we had sun, all was forgiven and we went out for a walk, on one of the lowest tides of the year, out to meet the sea, across the rippled sand and mud, looking towards the bright sunset reflecting on the water and the wet sand and I couldn't think of a better place to be.

 

The sunset reflecting on the water and rippled sand and mud.

Intertidal Magic

There is something in this transitory place, the intertidal zone on a beach at low tide which feels magical, mysterious and intimate. The tide goes out exposing the sea floor and all its delights, there are amongst other things, shipwrecks, fossils, seaweed, shrimps, tiny fish, stranded sea gooseberries and jellyfish, scuttling crabs and so much life. The seabed is alive, it gurgles and pops, molluscs create bubbles, seagulls take advantage of the harvest now available, strange remnants of sea sponge and other deeper water animals can also sometimes be seen.

Finding delights!



Shipwrecks too...

To imagine that this life on the seabed is just a part, a layer of life, when the tide brings the sea back in is amazing. Where I was walking right there, fish, lobsters, cuttlefish, seals and far more life, than I could ever list or know, would be swimming in the next 12 hours.

Detail of the wood of the boat.

 

The tide comes in from the east, it flows in around the coast from Reculver and Thanet, obviously coming a lot further than this, but the ebb and flow of the tides is such a huge natural phenomenon that we can forget its power and cease to wonder at it. But having learnt to sail off the coast of Herne Bay over the last few years the direction of the tidal flow became apparent; before that I thought that the tide came in and out parallel to the beach as that is what it looks like from the shore.

Looking back to shore.

I was very happy that my youngest son came out with me on this walk, we shared our finds, mine were fossils and pebbles, his were shrimps, crabs, huge strands of Kelp seaweed and the tiniest Cockles I have ever seen.

Subtle colours and patterns in such a magical place.

 

The tiniest Cockle.

At the edge of the tide-line I looked out to sea, watching the windmills, the sunset and pinpointing the WW2 sea-forts. I waited and recognised the noises, the look of the tide and the bird behaviour, called my son and we walked back in together as the tide turned, towards the distant shore, with its bright beach huts and grassy slopes knowing that a long awaited precious sunny day had been appreciated to the full.

For your information, my next Netwalking event is on the 8th of July 2016.

Please call or text me on 07432679164 or clare@people-to-place.co.uk