Kieran Mulvaney

Oct 13, 2011 8:27 AM EDT

Dear Kieran, your words convey how peace and nature are the gifts that smooth a scribbled mind. As I write this comment it is with much gratitude to the God of small things that the message pop-up sits a little to the right of that incredible mountain in your picture, leaving them both at eye-level. I am drinking in its view. What is the manmade structure centre-stage, framed by the leaves? It is too distant for me to make it out well, but it resembles some kind of viaduct, maybe? So, your mornings and evenings are cool, verging on cold. I don't know if it is just my mind's way of processing words, but when I read that, I got an immediate sense of standing under clear and flowing water. I returned from Weston to Bolton on 3rd October, after a week away in glorious sunshine. I don't think it was personal, but my return heralded rain - and it has rained every day since, sometimes torrentially. I no longer own a car but I do still have my motorcycle. Suffice to say that I am learning all over again the blisses of riding in the British windy, wet. I walk to and from university each day (5 miles round trip), but sometimes must go further and I ride if there is no public transport. Last Tuesday night I rode to a little village called Rixton, near Warrington. The rain wasn't too bad at 6.30pm. When I left at 9 to ride home, it was another story. The rain was lashing, the wind was a gale and then the horizon was lit up by most distinct and massive bolt of forked lightning. I said prayers as I rode clockwise round the M60 towards home. My bike is fully-faired and if there is a crosswind it can be hard work for a small person. I positioned myself in the outer part of lane 3 to pass a large tanker in lane 1 as it was spewing out spray and proceeded at around 60, I suppose. Everyone was going relatively slowly, but I was more vulnerable sandwiched between the tanker and the articulated lorry behind it than I was going past, so I ventured forth. I got level with the bonnet of the tanker, to be hit by a solid wall of wind and spray deflected off the flat front, plus the wind itself. It was a hairy moment and we were blown across into the 4th lane. Anyway, I am here to tell the tale, but it wasn't very pleasant. And it has rained every single day since then - except today. This morning, resting in the calm before the day, I sat in my nightclothes on my bed watching the first mistle thrush I have seen in ages peck around the autumn dampness of my garden and I always look away towards the top of Winter Hill. In its way, I suppose the hill with its transmitting mast are as much an ever-presence as your mountain. I have watched the seasons come and go on it for ten years now from the back of my house. This is the longest time I have ever lived in one place, even counting when I was a child and yet my heart still often yearns for the West Country and the barrenness of Weston's khaki sands. I'm glad you are back in your happy place, Kieran. Stay there and enjoy its blessings as for long as you can.

- Sue