Time for Walking


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Posted on February 22, 2015


Bannerdale


From the first step of a walk time is redefined. It passes in glimpses: shards of grass, bare winter trees, limp burnished bracken, sky. Its pulse is the rhythm of footfall, the come-and-go of breeze nudged in from the sea, our breath. We walk through the present, and the sun follows its usual arc through the sky, but Greenwich Mean Time is from another world where counting and figures follow rigid laws - laws that make sense, but there is another measuring that fits with the flow of body and wind and cloud. One that can bend between the parameters of logic, like the northern lights dancing improbably in a Nordic sky.

Wasdale


Time may pass slowly on an uphill slog yet when we pause and turn to look back, the opening of land and sky is larger than the slot of time that allowed for the change - minutes are redefined in contours and height changes all perspective. Seconds have swollen, hours have been drawn out like the walls that stretch like sinews from valley to summit. Yet the sun still follows its arc. It takes the light with into the sea, in time with the Greenwich rhythm, moving aside to make room for the stars to announce their place.

walking off White Pike


We descend to the valley bottom when the darkness draws in, and the walking stops.

Curiously the idea of 'time' came up when we were thinking about the amount of time that has passed since the last post ... We've, well, done a lot of walking.

 

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