Last weekend a lovely mild day saw myself and partner, with the two dogs, taking a walk in a beautiful little valley up in the mountains beyond my home. As I followed the path up into the valley, meandering along beside a small river, I felt an immense sense of peace and centredness, and found myself relishing the space, the quietness, and the ability to just enjoy the outdoors. By the time we reached the apex of our walk, up a small hill under some ancient evergreens, my mind was working quickly in the new core of peace, and the voice of a story was beginning. We drove a little further to visit the church at Llanwonno, and walked through the old, unkempt graveyard where layer upon layer of old grass have blurred the boundaries of the decaying graves, and softened the ground underfoot into a spongy carpet. I felt a sense of melancholy at the lives gone and now forgotten, grave markers falling or broken, their occupants unremembered and unmourned. The story voice came again, and that afternoon I took up pen and paper and let it flow. It may not come to anything, but the very act of writing out this new story has freed my mind, and a new energy fills me each day as I face my daily tasks of work and home. I feel more energised to try to get existing work published, and stronger in my sense of self and purpose. Maybe some writing is not for publication but serves the purpose of freeing the mind in order to escape stagnation and enter a phase of movement.
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