It’s like a vast, seemingly never-ending, area of scrubland. Rough, mostly flat, with some areas of nothingness and little vegetation. Other parts are full of thick undergrowth and trees, so dense that you just cannot see what, if anything, is lurking just a few metres away from the track.
“The absolutely incredible night sky in the desert. I had been warned that I would not believe what I saw and this was completely true.. The sky was just FULL of light.”
We find our inspiration where we can in life, when it hits us or when we stumble across it..
Today I was hit.
A movie, no less, reminded me what I already knew, I think, but needed to remember,
And wildness, at its basic and unreconstructed finest, becomes ever more attractive every time that voice of sanity echoes around my head.
I am more than the weight of all the opportunities that I didn't take or maybe didn't even notice.
How satisfying to sometimes take a step back from life.
Even if just for a moment
I didn't want to push things too much. I was reminded that only a few months before I was using a walking stick and could barely get out of the house.
I was chatting with someone the other day. They told me that they believed that they had a creative personality.
Well, here we are again.
I know how this works.
I can already feel the clouds gathering and the world suddenly feels just a little more claustrophobic and slightly pointless once more.
Most of us would like to think that we can identify with the traditions, the ideals, of the holiday season. To think of others before ourselves, to be kind, understanding and generous.
Sometimes she could use a reminder that her way of looking at the world is just one of the things that makes her unique and wonderful.
Every word, every photograph, every post that I share here requires a level of vulnerability.
That and courage.
There is peace and solitude in wildness. Skies, grey and inpenetrable, and wind fierce enough to leave even the strongest of us staggering for a moment.
We visited somewhere rather wonderful just the other day. Somewhere spectacular and beautiful, a place that we both loved.
A place that I decided to write a few words about here.
But also a place that I do not want to share.
Walking along quiet lanes, tractors and farm machinery working in the summer-dry fields as drifting clouds of dust take to the air, little storms of rural activity and a visible soundtrack to our amble.
Take a turn off the quiet country road linking Sherborne and Dorchester and park up in the isolated, and free, car park. Take a stroll past the ancient Kettle Bridge (very old) and walk along the bank of the Cerne River (very beautiful) and you will soon find yourself in the centre of the village.
So we walked and talked today.
We discussed how we are told that so many things in our world have importance when most are actually of little value.
Aspirational dreams of freedom and creativity. The struggles and excitement of being true to yourself, of living your dreams whilst facing reality.
