Distance: 1.2km
Accessibility: Run. Your life depends on it.
Landscape: Woodland.
Glad I ordered a big shop last week. The front door of the house has remained closed for six days. I have not even visited the garden. My food supplies are down to expired cans and the last selection of freezer tapas, calories over nutrition.
The moon has hung in the sky all week. Never moving, always full.
I wish I had a television. The radio has not mentioned anything about the sun going out, and the wifi light has remained red since my return from Huf Dael. The signal was always spotty, but this is like someone has slashed the cable.
My isolation has provided at least the perfect situation to get on with my writing. Nothing sniffles outside the door, so I have sat by the window, pen in hand. But my work has amounted to a few doodles on crinkled paper. Without leaving the house, I have nothing to write about.
Until today.
One more walk to go. I have to complete the cycle. Complete the book. And this is a quick one. Inconsequential compared to some of my treks. A jog up to the thinnest point of the woods near my home. Nothing can hide in a landscape that narrow. And then I am free.
It is only when I tied my laces did I realise it translated to Wolf Hill.
My coat still had traces of the mud from under the brambles. I have had time to clean and brush off the majority of the grout, but I do not think the fabric will ever be the same. White scar lines cover the material, and I doubt the waterproofing still works. Good old boots keep on going.
I have to go down the first route of the year to reach Wulfhil. To my amazement the fallen tree still crossed the path. But someone had sawn a segment out of the middle with a nice clean incision, so you can walk without hindrance. Wild plants grow thick around the fallen trunk, far too late for this point in the season. This would be a nice place to sit. To write. No time for that today.
Was there a myth about a tree? And a wolf? Was it lit
I had not appreciated before how old parts of these woods are. How twisted and gnarled the branches appear without leaves. Closer to Wulfhil the path runs through a tunnel of trees, dead leaves a red carpet to the most ancient part of the landscape. With the moon lost above the area is dark and claustrophobic. Some of the trees still bore fruit, but the high branches hid the variety.
The time from my cottage to Wulfhil is fifteen minutes. In broad daylight I could have spun around, and been home in half an hour. In another world I am writing up the final chapter, golden rays of lights hitting the dust in the air. But in the gloom every step was a cold adventure. Wulfhil was a open air mineshaft.
When the creature emerged, and wrapped around the trees like the morning fog, I was not scared. This was the next step in the logical conclusion to my quest.
‘Hello again,’ he said.
And even after everything, with the moon out, and the beast in front of me, this key moment, I thought of Archie and
::You will see what happens next Barbara. This is my final note to you.
I have to ask a favour. Please get this to Archie. I don’t think I need his blessing to use his name, especially as all the issues are well aired in public. However I think it is better that he is aware of these revelations. That they have been explored. And yes, I know I should have given him a call.
Was there another story about a tree? And the moon? Or something that looked like the moon? Too late now.
I hope you liked it.I hope the sun is up where you are. Or that you enjoy the moonlight.::
