EVENTS Stevie McIntosh Waxes Poetic on Walkerswood


The air is cool and crisp
The sun a mere wisp of colour, washing the earth with a hint of pale gold
The silence of dawn broken sharply by the sound of a woodpecker tapping away a melody
The path under foot rough and uneven, every step a potential mishap
Yet we plod on, slowly at first, then gathering momentum
Right, left and right again, the feet forming their own chant
The breath is short and choppy as the eyes focus dead ahead
Glancing away only for a mere second, the stones and dips along the path a constant threat
And as the stride lengthens, the step now more decisive, confident
We bound along, feet barely touching the ground
And just as quickly as the rhythm is set, it's broken
The trail ends, the concentration released and the eyes shift up and out, looking around in awe
Bamboo covered hills, steep descents, a bolder strewn valley
So many shades of gray, brown, green ... rich, dark, nothing brash or harsh
Just a solid presence of nature, of a world untarnished
And as quickly as the images are squirreled away, forming a part of that private, mental gallery
We retrace our steps, the trail attacked with a slower, more reflective pace
For the run will soon be over, a return to the daily routine looming
The monotony of existence broken by the anticipation of ...
The next trail run