Just popped out
A Village Walk
It wasn’t meant to be like this. I’d planned to head up to London, camera in hand, hoping for an early train to mists and autumnal greyness.
All through the night I coughed myself awake. Every time I sat up, it eased. Every time I lay back, it started again. In those wakeful hours, I mapped the day ahead — walking from Waterloo along the South Bank to Westminster Bridge, crossing quietly in the grey to the Houses of Parliament. Big Ben, a striking monolith in the mist. Then along a Sunday morning Whitehall to Trafalgar Square — silhouettes and pigeons, children carefree on the backs of sleeping lions.
By six o’clock it was clear I was going nowhere. Streaming eyes, a head that felt as though someone had taken a bar stool to it, hot and cold flushes — and that dreaded phrase: rail replacement service.
A mug of hot, strong tea in hand, sitting upright to soothe the coughs, I rethought my day. As the village Sunday came to life, the quiet autumn light reminded me of what I was missing. But perhaps a short walk was exactly what I needed. It certainly wouldn’t do me any harm.
Earbuds in. Podcast on. Out the door.
Dog walkers. Tots in knitted hats and scarves. The remnants of yesterday’s Bonfire Night festivities — smoke and mists.
“The falling leaves drift by the window.”
Some caught on car bonnets. Some a blanket on the ground.
Leaves.
Light.
Smoke.
Mist.
All poured into the hungry lens of my magic box.
And for a while, I forgot about my shivers and my cough.
