(no subject)
On Thursday I went to Spreacombe. My place of healing, refuge and peace. It takes over an hour to get there but the journey itself is a time to readjust my mind, think things over, decide what I am looking for. Sometimes I take people to visit, sometimes I go alone. This time I went o my own to find .. well I suppose I was looking for answers which I knew I wouldn’t find.
Ain’t it always the way. I seem to connect better when I have someone else with me, yet I want to be alone there.
So I got to the lane, they’d been trimming the hedges and there was more light. I parked in the usual lay-by, heart starting to beat faster. I walked through the gate, down the path, across the field to the sound of rushing water and birdsong. Through the gate into the wood. There were a few clumps of daffodils in the entrance. No leaves on the trees yet of course, but it was sunny and not at all cold. There was no sound, no people, just the water, a light breeze and birds. Along the path to the last gate. Nothing had really changed. The stream was very high, rushing at great speed to where ever it was going.
The spring itself was full of last years fallen leaves, brown and thick on the surface of the pool, but the water was still breathing, bubbles coming up through the stones of the floor of the spring. Beneath the trees this year’s moss was growing green and soft. It was brilliant in the sun. The water sparkled under the trees and the sky was blue between the branches of the trees. There is a small bridge over the stream and the ruins of a chapel there, but the spring feels so much older than that, and for a different power.
I spent a lot of time thinking, leaning against my favourite tree. I got no answers and perhaps I felt that no one was listening, yet since I was there, for the last few days, I keep remembering the pool, the sounds, the trees and it helps relax me.
It wasn’t a long visit as visits go, but it was good. I will go back, perhaps with someone else.
Sorry to have rambled, but I do love the place, and those of you who have been there will understand.
Ain’t it always the way. I seem to connect better when I have someone else with me, yet I want to be alone there.
So I got to the lane, they’d been trimming the hedges and there was more light. I parked in the usual lay-by, heart starting to beat faster. I walked through the gate, down the path, across the field to the sound of rushing water and birdsong. Through the gate into the wood. There were a few clumps of daffodils in the entrance. No leaves on the trees yet of course, but it was sunny and not at all cold. There was no sound, no people, just the water, a light breeze and birds. Along the path to the last gate. Nothing had really changed. The stream was very high, rushing at great speed to where ever it was going.
The spring itself was full of last years fallen leaves, brown and thick on the surface of the pool, but the water was still breathing, bubbles coming up through the stones of the floor of the spring. Beneath the trees this year’s moss was growing green and soft. It was brilliant in the sun. The water sparkled under the trees and the sky was blue between the branches of the trees. There is a small bridge over the stream and the ruins of a chapel there, but the spring feels so much older than that, and for a different power.
I spent a lot of time thinking, leaning against my favourite tree. I got no answers and perhaps I felt that no one was listening, yet since I was there, for the last few days, I keep remembering the pool, the sounds, the trees and it helps relax me.
It wasn’t a long visit as visits go, but it was good. I will go back, perhaps with someone else.
Sorry to have rambled, but I do love the place, and those of you who have been there will understand.