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Walking into the Moor I pull my coat tight around me and tug my hat down over my ears, the wind bites through my clothes and chills me. The sky is an intense blue, that cold, clear bottomless blue you get on an icy but sunny day in early Spring.  I stop at a gate to pull on my gators for the land looks wet. A Red Kite is circling high up majestically riding the wind. She swoops down and lands for a second disappearing from view then soars up effortlessly seeming to want to accompany me as I walk on through the gorse lined lane.  I start to climb and the sun comes out I’m hot now from the exertion and take off my hat letting the warm rays touch and caress my face that is starved from sunlight after a long wet winter indoors. I drink it in greedily I’m parched desperate for its nourishing goodness.

The higher moor air is alive with bird song. The lapwings crying and swooping their eerie other worldly calling echoing over the moor. Red grouse playful, timing it to perfection, burst out of the gorse just feet away startling us, I scream every time exhilarated, joyful. There’s the gift of a Golden plover pausing for us to admire him in his finery, a buzzard circles high above mewing melancholy and of course scampering rabbits by the dozen. It’s so beautiful up here. I think when I die maybe a little bit of me could be scattered here to remain forever as part of this land. Today this is Heaven I can’t imagine anything more beautiful, the bird calls the voices of angels, the wind and the sunlight the manna on which I feast.

Out of nowhere a shower of hail, sunlight and hail and wind it’s intoxicating after so long indoors in the dark.

Reflecting the next day I think how subjective heaven must be. For surly my legs ache from the climbing and I know the moorland is a wild rugged place not to everyone’s liking. I think that my Heaven might be someone else’s Hell.

I’m writing this, my first ever blog, waiting for my new website to be launched. I feel excited and nervous as I’m challenging myself to step outside my comfort zone and begin to show more of who I am.  I’ve been honoured over the years to witness so many stories in my work as a therapist. I’m wondering if it might be helpful to share some thoughts about life and some of the things that I value and that have helped me on my own life journey. I like the idea of passing things on for others.

When things don’t go to plan.

Earlier this month I planned to walk from Barnard Castle in County Durham to Wholton Bridge across the Tees and back again on the other side. A circular walk, one I haven’t done before. It’s a beautiful day, the woods are full of bird song, the river tumbles and crashes, powerful in the steep sided gorge stretch but then glides swift but gentle as it widens out.  Brown and bubbling, earthy and delightful. I’m very conscious of its power and mind my step on the high paths looking down as the bank falls away steeply to the river below.  I’m thinking of the ruined Abbey we have passed with an ancient cart bridge over a tributary. Would the inhabitants have wandered in these woods. How amazing that these stone bridges are still in use today, they have stood the test of time.

We’re out of the woods now looking ahead to Whorlton Bridge seeing fences and obvious signs of building work. I’m not really taking too much notice as I’m thinking of my sandwich and the promise of a cup of tea from the flask so it’s not until we arrive that I realise it’s closed.

I’m disbelieving,’ no surely it’s open to pedestrians’, then angry, ‘why are there no signs’, I grumble. There’s no choice  but to turn around, without a map, which unusually I’ve left behind, thinking the walk is straight forward, there’s no way of knowing if there’s another bridge further downstream.

Grumbling we turn back and retrace our steps. Disappointed it hasn’t gone to plan we are trudging a bit then suddenly ahead I catch site of two roe dear heads down grazing. There’s a wall between us and them and I think we are down wind so we manage to get really unusually close before they spot us and bound away, cutting across our path and running up hill for a second silhouetted on the skyline before disappearing. It’s a beautiful sighting, the closest I’ve been for some years. I’m smiling now and glad to be here at this moment, mindful if the bridge was open we wouldn’t have seen them. It’s made my day.  Further on a see a couple of guys walking and stop to tell them the bridge is closed, ‘oh yes’,  they reply  laughing,  ‘it’s been shut for years, didn’t you know’.  They remind me it’s a beautiful walk back anyway.

Further along we stop for a cup of tea at a beautiful tree:

At the next upstream bridge we emerge from the river path and see a sign telling us that Whorlton Bridge is closed, it was there all along but we didn’t read it. We both laugh. Sometimes it’s good to be reminded just to go with the flow and be open to what’s coming along instead of holding on too tightly and trying to control. It’s a reminder if we can let go a little who knows what the world may want to show you.