29/11/12
Oh wow, look at me now,
I'm building up my problems to the size of a cow.
How easy would it be home in time for tea,
and stop feeling like a sailboat rocking on the sea.
You know, I've seen a
lot of French cows. Close up. They seem somehow bigger than the
English ones, and for whatever reason (I am no farmer) there's a lot
of bulls. There are also many a museum dedicated to the humble cow.
I have driven right on past these. Maybe I should have called in,
after all, with a couple of nights sleeping in townie areas, I'm kind
of missing falling asleep to the sound of cow bells. It's much more
civilised than the wind chimes in nature. As you hear the chimes you
picture a cow languidly moving, shifting in its sleep or seeking out
where the grass is greener. Nice animals. Nice life. Until it ends
abruptly with an abattoir visit of course.
So, the far distance
snack sized cows of the Peak District seem some way away right now.
In fact, life in England does, and I'm very slightly reluctant to
return there, even though returning means it's time to start getting
myself ready for the New Zealand trip. And hey, there are visits to
good friends and to big sister planned, and I wouldn't abandon those
for the world!
It feels a little like
going home is returning to address problems. But what problems are
those? Are they the size of French cows or of Peak District cows. Or
are they, in fact, more like elephants … I say this because today I
have been bouldering near to Fontainebleau and came across this
little sweetheart. I climbed the other side of it, attempting to
adhere to the first rule of rock climbing “don't fall off” by
climbing within my grade. Well, to the edge of it anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment