I drove home this morning as the long gold of a soft morning painted the world in pastel and shadows. I finally had a dawn to drive home with after the long winter darkness. By ten past six I was high on the moors, with just a sliver of light on the horizon as I reached the hills outside Sheffield, growing slowly to the blue of a virginal morning and blushing at the birds.
It had been a good weekend in the north and there was much to think about, much to plan and an awful lot to do as we begin the final stages of preparation for the Silent Eye’s April workshop. My mind was flitting between costumes for the principals, the crafting of a ritual and occasionally wandering off to smile at the odd moments and laughter that had been shared.
It had been a productive weekend too as we finalised our new little project and prepare for its publication. It is surprising how much work you can actually get through when anyone looking on would simply assume you were relaxing with a glass of red wine.
There had been churches and history, stone crosses and standing stones… even prehistoric rock art. There had been sunshine and spring flowers, as well as hail, rain and snow. We had watched bluetits and chaffinches in the woods and kestrels and buzzards in the air. We may even have managed to visit the odd hostelry or three. Well, maybe a few more…
I drove straight back to work, to hailstones, an overflowing of inboxes and followed that up with a crisis before managing to collect Ani at tea-time and bring her home. The house had been tidy till then… within ten minutes the cushions are back off the sofa, the toys all over the floor and the birds in the garden duly chastised for their trespassing. In spite of the winter cold and the lateness of the hour, she is sitting in the open doorway watching the night while I freeze. Suddenly I know I am back. But I upload the photos from the weekend and then… well, I could be anywhere or any when… except that these are the colours of home.