The Gap

We stayed at Twice Brewed on the wall. A family gathering, inspired by the serious runner in our midst. We saw him briefly as he passed. His effort was our excuse to revisit Hadrian’s Wall. High on our agenda, and just around the corner, the solitary tree at Sycamore Gap. It was still standing when we booked. We knew the tree was down, we could hardly have missed that news. We couldn’t anticipate the shock of its absence. The emptiness of the space. How much worse to have been the ones to find it felled on that bleak September morning. Just why?

Our runner finished in good time and fine fettle. The week since our return was marked by coughs, colds and infection. It’s been the story of the last few weeks. I returned from my May retreat, thankfully well rested and very much on top of my coursework, to a time of simply being granny.

My solitary break energised me. I travelled to Grasmere by train and bus; ran and wrote each morning, walked in Wordsworth’s footsteps in the afternoons. I ran the same route each day, watched morning mist rise to meet clouds nestling in the valley as I headed away from Town End.  Around the village, little stirred. Buses hadn’t begun to arrive. No queue for gingerbread. People sat behind panorama windows of B&B conservatories ordering their full English. Briefly, I became part of their view. Deeper into the village, air conditioned vans discharged chilled packages ready to be freshly baked, here, on the premises. Later I’d return to find grey slate eclipsed by brightly coloured coats and remember my moment of solitude as I too merged into their midst.

This week’s travels take me to the Southern edge of Coniston with Mr A. Both convalescing from our coughs, I’m not sure how much walking will get done. Resting, recovery and reading are firmly on the menu. No running.