Today I had time to sit and breathe. To finally absorb everything that has happened over the last twelve days.
I have spent twelve days walking. Walking by the Irish Sea, over mountains, by lakes, through bogs, and moors. I learned what words like beck and swale meant which is important when you are told to follow the beck. It’s a stream. I have been mentally and physically pushed to my edge. I have cried, and laughed, and have had many fine conversations with sheep, cows, and horses.
At times when I thought I couldn’t go on, I would see a the flash of a wild red poppy in a field, my favorite flower, and know that I actually could go on.
I want to write a full write up about this experience, but I still have two more days of hiking and 29 miles to go. I feel like it wouldn’t be fitting to write about it just yet. I’m still processing and have a few more experiences to experience.
Here are a few photos until then.
Starting at St. Bee’s
A judgmental cat in Orton.
The Nine Standards
On the Cleveland Way in the North York Moors.