We had family celebrations at the weekend. There were birthdays and anniversaries to catch up on. Not least, we celebrated Gigi’s first social outing since Christmas 2019. GG is great gran, last year she astounded us as a Covid survivor. She’s had window visits from her great grandchildren; this weekend she was finally able to see them without a glass screen.
Four generations gathered in the garden, the weather was kind. There was cake and more to eat. Football, belated Euro 2020, for the sons in law.
It was a little chaotic as we remembered how to socialise. Granddaughter#1 took herself away with a book for a while. With hindsight I am reminded of the childhood me, escaping from noisy adult chatter with an Enid Blyton.
Yesterday, it was my turn to be alone. I dusted down my bike and cycled along the disused railway, over the Nidd gorge and into Ripley. I stopped on the viaduct and leaned against the parapet. I listened to the sound of living water flowing some hundred feet below my feet. Away from the noise of the town, just running water and birdsong. In the green spaces of the town’s edge lands that had sustained me throughout lockdown, I felt restored.
I’d read last week that, some miles upstream, the river had been polluted by silt. Thankfully, I saw no sign of it here. I stayed awhile enjoying the solitude. Alone,with memories of a happy, busy weekend; and wondering when we might all be together again.