Friday, 19th, June, Morville to Chelmarsh, 10.33 miles
It is inevitable after enjoying such a sociable gathering of like-minded people last night, that I feel decidedly melancholic today. As we head off ourselves, I feel the loneliness and responsibility of the solo long distance traveller. Tommy seems to pick up on my mood as he is lacking the usual spring in his step. He could simply be tired and ready for a rest. However, I am happy for us to plod on today, knowing we don’t have many miles to cover anyway. The bridle paths are good and fairly clear with only a couple of small stretches on B roads, with a mixture of clearly distinct tracks and not so obvious ones,
before reaching our destination near Chelmarsh, and our B&B overlooking the reservoir.
In the evening, Karen kindly gives me a lift to the Bulls Head Inn in the village where I have a piece of salmon and catch up with some blogging over a glass of Chardonnet which revives me after feeling tearful again, watching other couples and families come and go and feeling very alone again all of a sudden. Karen had asked me on the drive over if I ever get lonely. She must have picked up on my mood. It is at times like these that an unkind word or a negative response to something can render me useless and when I feel most vulnerable. It can be crippling. Even admitting to these feelings is difficult but I vowed to tell it how it is. I told her it is a mixture of highs and lows.
Anyway, walking back as the dusk descends, I see a barn owl out hunting and bats going about their business. Ambling along the path beside the reservoir with its silvery mirror, I think to myself, how lucky am I?
The following day is drizzly and it’s also a rest day for Tommy. At breakfast, I meet a fellow guest from Germany on a visit to family here, whom I discover we share many ideas about spiritual matters. (Don’t get excited folks, he has a partner in Germany). He kindly gives me a copy of his book and says there is no such thing as chance meetings. They happen because they are meant to.
Later, as I am writing up my blog in my room, I hear Tommy calling, followed closely by the clatter of galloping hooves outside my window. Thinking the unthinkable……that Tommy has jumped out of his field, I hastily slip my shoes on and run downstairs to discover that is exactly what has happened. I soon discover why. His companion had been brought out of the adjoining field and put into a stable. He had simply wanted to join him.
I take the opportunity to wash him down, as my white pony has turned a pale shade of soil-red, before putting him into the stable next to his new companion. He is a happy boy once more, equilibrium restored.