lines made while walking

Bramble mobbed and sure-shod i clamber up the glen on a soft camber of path under trees that shout in the merest breeze; and a slick of stream – more a dribble really, last loosenings of rain – partners me as i climb next to the tram line. Running off from the hill up top and making its asides, sometimes shrill but now a silver jumble of stone-jostled sounds. The water-tumble is joined by a sharp, distinct line of birdsong; no choice: bright day, sun out in everyone’s faces and the birds are loud in all places. Summer rejoices, everything exceeds itself, getting bigger and bigger with vitality of sap. A wren sends a voice out into the world larger than its own thimbleful of body.
How does it do that?
i walk under beech and oak, beside birches broken in anonymous storms before – perhaps – anyone thought to give storms names. i touch their cracked, lichenous skins and get in close to them, running a finger into their lines to find the paths far smaller things than i make their ways to and fro in. The trees overspread themselves and together enmesh the eye that would see through them.
Lines over lines over lines.
i walk the glen edges as if i’d know my limits, drawing my own line by Baildon Moor, up round the crags irresistibly down-looking into a dark crease of valley where the river can be heard as a whisper of something far greater hidden under dulled green canopies of trees. The crags are hard on the knees, up-reared and sheer, opening here into a crevasse, there onto a platform. Further on they perform the way itself; stretching out as bridges where the sandy silt of this sandstone grit which overlays the clay’s been washed away in – perhaps – those same nameless storms.
Take a lungful of air deep and try to preserve it as long as i can; become a bellows, and air and spore, sap breath and moor-dust travelling through me. Eyes close to the view and turn inward to the view there. Spare.
And for the first seconds when i open them again, only blue as through a filter.
This is common land that endures for common folk to walk, to own, to share, and make lines across. Up by the woods-deep tramway; up Prod Lane; until the world opens out on top of me: sky blue, scudded with vapour lines and falling away limitless above. Rocks below foot become quarries and precipices at sheer horizon lines, leaving signs of violence; a landscape aggressively made to fit around and between.
i have seen rocks not as infinite in their roundness, nor as inviting of touch. My hands drag across them, invisibly marking lines on them as i try to decipher the marks other hands have carved on, not through, them.
Even these are not indelible to the rain.
Then through the grasses between as i go from monolith to monolith of rock – my steps older than Jurassic up here – carboniferous grit works itself into the grooves of my boots; the sleeves of my smock. And i pick a stalk for something to hold onto: its papery gold crackling in my palm as i squeeze the seeds of this almost cropped barley top.
Feet other than mine have made deep, dry-banked line-trenches on this rock-buttressed upland; walking a resolute yes to the rights of common ways: dog-walkers, runners, school-returning kids, lovers – these have all helped to lay down the lines of the glen.
Their sunken hollows – light lines between grasses and boulders – forcing and shaping the landscape around them, give the illusion of permanence.
May these lines never fade and may feet always walk read them.

2 thoughts on “lines made while walking

  1. Taking up Andrea Stephenson’s suggestion I’ve been looking into your blog. I used to love walking the hills, through woods, and into the countryside, but now have to be content with remembering and trying to recall those happy days. You clearly enjoy your own local landscape.Thank you for writing about it..

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for those lovely words Richard, that’s kind of you to say. Yes I am very blessed where I live. I’m sad to hear your walking has been curtailed now but I will enjoy following your reveries on your blog as I enjoy your style and imagery ๐Ÿ™‚

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