Peace 2

Peace 2

His stride shortened as he reached the steepest part, enjoying the pull of his muscles and the thump of his heart. He was tall and thin with greying hair that was still thick enough to need attention from the barber who now charged him eight pounds, down from the ten he had to pay until that sixty fifth birthday, five months ago. His was an outdoor face, tanned, with wrinkles around the eyes from squinting into the sun. Today that was not a problem as it was two hours set but he could see enough of the path ahead in the glim from the city beyond to keep from tumbling down the steep slope to the trickling burn far below.

He was wearing his favourite clothes, ones he knew suited him by trial and error during many hikes over the years in the wild places that combed the tangles from his thoughts. Thin threaded, closely woven trousers tucked into two pairs of socks to keep his boots snug and feet blister free. An old fleece with multiple pockets over a sweat wicking shirt and, of course boots, ones that were comfortable, familiar, nearly part of his feet, completed his outfit. His waterproof jacket and trousers, gloves and hat were in the rucksack, their weight a premium paid against poor weather.

He reached a favourite spot, unsnapping the clips on his rucksack before swinging it down with a practiced shrug. He bent, feeling the strain in his back, to open the snow cover drawstring and slide out his yellow foam garden kneeling mat which he placed on the bank to insulate his bony pelvis from the damp of the grass and the insult of the rocks. A small thermos next to provide over-sweetened coffee, not so much for thirst, more for energy to manage the four miles home.

Sipping from the plastic cup, his breathing slowed, recovering from the stomp up the hill, his heart calming as he lost awareness of its beating. His senses grew sharper as he sat still and mute; hear the evening breeze stirring last autumn’s dry leaves, see the loom of the moon as she began her silent silver rise and smell the juicy scent of the bluebells jostling for space in the beech wood, overlain with the stench of wild garlic he had unavoidably  crushed underfoot. The evening hush settled gently over the valley like a summer weight duvet, letting him hear the whispering rushes of the nocturnal wildlife snuffling out of their day time burrows to earn their living, all too aware of his presence.

His recent retirement allowed him to trade sleep for night walks in the woods when the mood took him, seeking the calm with no worries about being work alert next morning. He was free to sit here, hands sucking the warmth from the coffee cup, cherishing the peace of the place until the night air chilled his flesh and his old joints began to stiffen, driving him homeward.