I came back from school drop-off this morning and saw to the chickens. It was a lovely day. The high winds of the weekend had blown off to annoy someone else and the sun was warming the earth.
I don't exercise enough but this morning I mounted my rough and tumble bike and set off.
Down the hill on the village road, the self imposed breeze whipped at my cheeks and I nearly lost my oil skin hat. In the end I braked as hard as possible and whipped off my hat and dropped it into my basket. I was transported, (a little faster than I liked,) along the steep road that runs beside our furthest field boundary. There were faint signs of life in the hedgerow and I fancied I saw glimpses of young ferns, their fronds uncoiling.
It stands to reason that if you go down a hill you'll eventually need to climb it again. I rode through the village, a small collection of houses, no pub, no shop, no post office. There was a pub and a shop once, but not in our time.
Travelling in this direction, the incline back home is gradual and torturous. My heart thumped in my chest and I knew my fitness was sorely lacking since last Autumn, when I was constantly working in the garden. I confess I had to stop twice to have minor heart attacks..... but I did it. Each time I rested, and when my heart rate finally slowed and the blood thumping in my ears subsided, I could hear the delightful bubble of the running streams in the ditches either side of the road; the water pouring off the fields after the recent bad weather.
What a treat. I think I'll try again tomorrow.