HAND IN HAND WITH SNOW FLURRIES FROM A CLOUDLESS SKY.
On our way to the reservoirs you delighted in reminding me just how off kilter my memory was when thinking about the route we used to take to go to the wild garlic glen which is also on the way to the reservoirs and somewhere we frequented scant months ago. You mentioned how convinced I was that I knew the route; reminded me of yesterdays interminable drives up tiny roads ending in hard to turn back cul de sacs. I quite like being teased, especially as, without it, I am in danger of a pomposity overload.
We found the parking space, this time, found the path. Another sunny April day; the daffodils just beginning to fade. Just inside the gate to the field through which the track runs we found an old cart; green rimmed wheels, on its side, its seat parallel to the earth, yellow trim, the bed of it pointing into the ground in a scatter of rusty metal and decayed wood.
I had to take a photo; gathering in the memorabilia of our day to day, pausing just a second to think that this oddity might and probably did rattle along tracks with birdsong, conversation, laughter, the occasional stony faced, silent quarrel. Trying to remember such things mean so much more than an Instagram mention.
Our conversation was light. I love the lightness you bring to life. And am still confused that you don’t grump more and that, even when you are in a full on grump, seem unable to express it with any conviction. This would have been just as your UTI was slowly fading away but you were still tired, and just as your endo pain was flaring up again, making long walks a painful and weary experience despite the green grass, budding trees and occasional flower.
We passed a broken caravan, then a derelict house; piles of rubbish besides it. A paddock with nothing in it. A makeshift pen with chickens clucking. We paused to look at the remains of a cutting into the hillside. Then another derelict building which seemed to be some sort of very large, abandoned toilet block. The sort you might have found in the Victorian section of a once prosperous city. But then it could have been some long forgotten milking shed!
Dash the dog wandered along the edge of a ravine, much to your alarm, which was maybe, justified as he is very good at falling off things.
We never did find the reservoirs. We veered off track, climbed another steep hill through whin bushes and, when you declared yourself unfit and unsupplied with your inhaler, sat on rocks by a dry stane dyke wall.
Dash sat himself down and stared, like us, down to the Gareloch. A silver, sparkle of bright water, studded with ships and yachts. Beyond that we could see to Gourock, on the other side of the Clyde, and Dunoon, beyond Roseneath. Not the slightest breath of wind, blue sky, no clouds, lots of sunshine.
We wondered about ticks; paused to greet another couple walking up our faint track, confirmed to them that we did not know where the reservoirs were either.
I was just settling to do some more day dreaming, maybe have a kiss or two; perhaps join in a conversation about I have no idea what, because such things seem to arrive like magic from your lips. I never have a clue what to say but do love the stories you tell; the thoughts you express, the opinions and meanders in your imagination you gift to me as a matter of course throughout the day.
Suddenly you said;
“What time is your zoom call?”
I replied that I had ages yet but that it was at three and you pointed out it was twenty to three, that we were up a hill and twenty minutes drive from home!
Walking downhill was so much quicker than our breathy struggle uphill!
As we walked it began to snow.
“What on earth is that?” We asked each other.
I thought there must be a fire nearby with lots of ash; you opted for dandruff!
We refused to believe snow can come from a cloudless sky but when the white specks landed on us and melted we had to agree to the snow option.
I wish every day was like this; adventures to all sorts of places. In this case, a stunningly beautiful, almost post-apocalyptic landscape of hills and grass, bracken and woodland and abandoned buildings where we wittered, walked hand in hand with no particular end in sight. Where we teased and laughed and got muddy feet, stumbled through whin bushes, sat on moss covered rocks, watched the tiny yachts below us, tacking up the water.
Not so long ago we would have taken advantage of the isolation to cuddle and kiss and caress, our eyes a little bright, our breath a little fast.
We walked back; hands swinging together, thinking about distant times when we had nothing to worry about, no demands, no need but to snuggle up and sleep for a while.
But just then, we needed to be home in time to switch on the laptop, log on, say hello to distant people and hope the rush upstairs didn’t betray my hurry.
(Photo. just above Rhu. April 2021)