My shoes came into their own on the second park of the walk. They vanquished any mud from the path, and I got into an enjoyable rhythm in the more open ground.
For me walking is one of the most important ways to fire up creativity. When I needed a new Butter Mouse story, or he spun his wheels in the middle of an adventure, a walk sparked something into life.
London had enough green space to facilitate constant book ideas. A squirrel hopping from one tree to another. A plastic toy boat on a pond. A bird landing on a pushchair. You will find all of those in my work, and all originate on treks around local parks.
These little snippets make me wonder about ideas. If I had turned left down a different party or set out an hour earlier, would a whole different world of tales exist? Did I come up with my ideas, or did I filter the world outside onto paper? Is there a difference?
Regardless, now I had to push plans away. The Butter Mouse wanted to climb up the hedgerows, and make parachutes from the leaves. But these words are my focus. I know some of you are hoping this will morph into a new story, but closure is essential.
Thank goodness the countryside provided a distraction. I was wiping some persistent dead foliage from my heels, and kicks against some sort of divot in the ground. Five more ran alongside it, each a few inches deep. They had a similar shape to the ones of the tree, but formed through force rather than disease.
I crouched down, and slid my finger into one. The earth was warm, like a plate ready for serving.
Something rustled on the other side of hedgerows, pushing aside foliage hard enough to crunch the branches. A badger maybe? It was definitely the signal to keep walking. No need to add a tetanus jab to the journey.
A steady but cold track for the rest of the route. Glad to reach the car, and a cup of tea upon return. Sounds like a good tradition to start.
Acwern Bog is not the most remarkable walk of the year, but for a calm Sunday morning you can get some exercise without too much endeavour. And good to think about old times.
::Hope this does not sound like I am grubbing around for excitement on this walk Barbara. Can add more detail of the walk as needed.
I’ll be honest, I have toned down my discoveries. Those marks were identical to the ones on the bark in the woods. And that rustling, it was more like something tearing through the undergrowth. A wild pig, something like that. Although I don’t think such an animal lives around here.
I am still not sure where this project is going, but I have faith. I’ll keep taking pictures. Let me know your thoughts.::
