The Intrepids are on holiday again. This time, the Lake District, to wander lonely as clouds and mull on Coniston Water I suppose. It's been three years now since I went walking in that lovely part of the world, and as I dropped them at the coach stop this morning, I found myself wishing I could go with them.
"It's not going to rain, so you'll need to do the watering," said my Dad. The morning sky was fresh and bright and criss-crossed with vapour trails. I pulled out of the drive and swung up the lane to the main road.
"No, you'll have a great time," I said, "Not like the day I waited for the Hawkshead Ferry, anyway." I suddenly found myself remembering the little wooden shelter at the end of a twenty mile walk. My feet were swimming and my skin was soaked beneath my waterproofs - in the twilight the misty rain bounced into the lake by the jetty and I sat alone, waiting for the little ferry to carry me across Lake Windermere. It was wonderful and awful, all at the same time. I was too tired to be miserable about it, as I remember.
I'm pretty tired today as it goes. I haven't walked twenty miles and I'm not waiting for a ferry in the rain. I've just had a busy weekend - basket teas and barn dance gigs, late nights and early mornings with suitcases and holidaying parents.
I tried the power nap technique today. I had an hour in between things so I threw myself into bed and tried to go to sleep. It doesn't work. After a while, I got up feeling groggy - actually worse than I had before. I thought the whole idea of power-napping was to get little bursts of refreshment, like hitting a thermal that lifts you a little further into the air for the next thing. Instead I've felt like I've been spiralling into the ground for most of the day.
The tunes from last night's gig are still echoing around in my head. Imagine a hornpipe being played on a tiny accordion inside your brain. It was fine for a short set of dances at a 60th birthday party, but it's not great in the middle of the night, or during a Sunday morning sermon when you're trying desperately to keep your eyes open. It's always the hornpipe as well isn't it, limping away like a pirate ship on a sunset ocean.
As is customary of course when the Intrepids are off intrepiding, it's my turn to put the bins out. I grabbed the recycling boxes and lugged them down the drive. The stars were really bright tonight - twinkling and beaming in their familiar old constellations. I saw Cassiopeia, the Plough and some other shapes I can't name. These stars, way above the tirednesses of the day and the weariness of the world, these immovable wonders of the heavens are like old friends, fixed in place and beautiful. I smiled to myself, stuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans and wandered back to the house, humming a hornpipe.
No comments:
Post a Comment