Storyteller's World

This morning's sky was all over pink, so I knew that somewhere there would be some very anxious shepherds. But for the time being, as the pink dispersed, it was dry and bright, so I walked up the hill to Elsfield. I had got up so paranoid about not sleeping, so panicky about all the tasks that had piled up to be done, so dry and uncreative, that I knew my only option was to take an hour to walk there and back, and not hurry through Morning Prayer while I was there.

Walking up the hill to Elsfield is probably the most dangerous thing I do. There is no footpath, and there are long stretches of virtually single-track road, where only the brave or the very thin attempt to pass an oncoming vehicle. For some reason the number of cars is hugely increased these days - perhaps there are roadworks on one of the other possible routes - so that for about a quarter of a mile they were nose to tail back up the hill. Right up against the grass verge or dyke, so there was nowhere for me to walk but on the left, with my back to the traffic on that side. When the traffic is moving up that lane, it tries to travel at 40 or 50 m.p.h., so I was glad there wasn't much going that way.

(I longed for the speedy prosecution of that other campaign in the ongoing civil war, that will close the private schools; for it's notable that when their term ends, the volume of traffic is roughly halved.)

Whether it was the danger or the steep climb, my heart was going like the clappers when I got to the church. But it was well worth the time, the exercise, the risk-taking. I felt refreshed; the panic was nearly dispelled; and I got through most of my tasks when I did get back to the vicarage.

The sky was red again this evening. Must be a lot of very confused shepherds around somewhere.