The rain had driven away all other wanderers. Brena and I tramped the muddy trails alone. Light after rain's grey veil seemed appropriate for the mid-point of winter. From now on the days will lengthen. Imperceptibly, then with spring's welcome rush.
For now, the season of muddy feet and manes. Of snipping the last few inches from Brena's tail. Drying wet rugs. Seeing her steam in a sheltered stable. Smelling her drying body whilst she voraciously devours hay.
A good day to return to a cosy home. But strange for one such as me who loves to spread out in the sun. To camp without having to put too many things away. I am a peculiar creature, fated to travel, but making the most of this rainy isle.
Looking forward to a week off work. (I need to rest!) Not looking forward to Christmas. (Where has the spirituality gone?) Hoping for decent weather, enough to cover some miles on the trail with sun on my face.
Dreaming of next summer. Of Colorado, New Mexico and Utah. Brightness and space as much as I can imagine and more. Friends and fresh adventures. We need dreams, some of us. How we need them.