Crossroads.

Campervan Mornings becoming a little darker this morning, as the year marches on towards its end. Sparse intermittent droplets of early morning rain, which soon dissipate. The light remains grey, murky and heavy reflecting the nature of the cloud above me. It feels warm for mid September, but as I say that edge to the morning sign posting autumn and the inevitability of winter. Still not a breath of wind. The sound of far yonder rolling stock and the low frequency rumble of commuter traffic is my background. Layered gently on top, the cries of a solitary Crow flopping across the sky, a lone distant Cockerel, the songs of a couple of Robins. As I sit, earlier than usual, the light changes shape and a feint tint returns to the sky, breathing early morning colour into the grey. These quiet times watching the morning manifest have become the backbone of my day and are now virtually non-negotiable, another station on the ongoing journey.

I have been drawn back to one of my muses of late as I flit between books, notes and journals at the moment. Rebecca Solnit remains a reading soulmate and she writes :

“ Some people inherit values and practices as a house they inherit ; Some of us have to burn down that house, find our own ground, build from scratch, even as a psychological metamorphosis “

I stood inside that house, continually shoring it up despite the obvious signs that it was not fit for purpose. Ignoring the clear signs of shifting and the longing for change. It took me longer than I thought to set fire to it, stand back and watch it burn, clear away the debris and rebuild again. It’s not perfect, but the view is so much better, the air is clearer, the rooms are so much brighter and it’s mine, not some one else’s. Lovely days people.

“ History is made more of crossroads, branchings and tangles than straight lines.” Rebecca Solnit.