Well, here we are two weeks into my 43rd autumn. A quiet Sunday afternoon - Em, who has been visiting the weekend is at work - as is Andy. There is a pleasing autumnal quietness to everything (though I am still craving that true autumnal chill) - I can hear the fridge in the kitchen humming away, low voices on the street, but these sounds are drowned out by the sound of my typing. Footsteps on the keyboard.
Two weeks ago - the last day of August - I arose from my Sunday malaise and decided to go for a walk. I often go for walks of course, but mostly around the urban environs of Brighton or the seafront. I decided that I would go for a walk across the Sussex Downs to Lewes, I had done this walk before with Em, but a number of years ago, and my memory was a bit sketchy as to details.
I took the bus to town, and then walked to the base of Bear Road. Dear lord, this hill is steep and unpleasant - particularly in the blazing sun. At the top of Bear Road, there is a small path that runs behind the houses of Woodingdean. On the left are the Downs.
Oh, the relief.
It was like suddenly realizing how thirsty you are when someone gives you a drink of water (or more likely in my case a can of diet coke or lucozade). It was the relief of being away from people, away from the city and its desert of straight lines and angles. No-one here but silence.
I walked over the Downs, slightly disappointed there were also other people enjoying the walk too, but despite this there was that overwhelming feeling of relief at being alone in the countryside. The walk to Lewes was too short and I caught the train back and was home by early evening.
I went for another solitary walk last week too, up Bear Road again, and then across the Downs to Rottingdean, then back along the seafront home. This walk wasn't quite as enjoyable as last weeks - the actual amount of time spent in the countryside alone was less than the walk to Lewes - but nonetheless had its moments; finding a burnt out van near that creepy blackberry picking place, eating my lunch on a stile by the entrance into the Uncanny Valley.
I need to do these walks regularly - solitary jaunts into the countryside - I seem to find some kind of peace out there - and it is a kind of peace, a recharging of the imaginative batteries, that seem to last into the week too.
