Walk with me

I walked with you on Wednesday evening. I had been waiting all day for the rain to come. I retrieved my wellies from the conservatory after I had eaten my tea and I was excited because the rain thundered down on the roof. The light nights came so quickly this year. I love the length of the days in Spring, and the way plants are so desperate to put forth and to bloom and to grow.

You encouraged me to follow my feet. They know these streets so well. They took me towards the small park near my house where once I saw half a dozen foxes traversing the paths and disappearing into dense but failing foliage. I enjoy the sound of the rain as it hits my brolly, but more than that, I love the feel of raindrops kissing my hair and meadering down towards my scalp with the pull of gravity. I followed the road for a time and then entered a walled wood that runs parallel to the road. It’s a curious thing – not a park, nor a maintained green space – more like a bit of nature, undisturbed but contained. The remnants of what was. The trees are huge and they shelter me from the rain, though now and then a fat droplet of water will land on me having run down a leaf. I’ve never seen this patch of land like this before – so lush and green, pregnant with life. I last came here on a November morning and both the trees and the ground echoed my emotions – barren and lifeless, facing a Winter with little hope for Spring. Yet Spring came. For us both.

You asked me to pick something up for you on our walk. I chose a piece of bark, divorced from its tree and looking so ripe and sodden. The colour was dense, though it will be lighter when dry. You finished your recounting of moments gone, and I turned for home, ready to replay your charming accompaniment. But my ears were open to the rain instead.

A response to Walk With Me by Hannah Nicklin. I urge you to experience it yourself – but make sure it’s raining. Hannah can also be found @hannahnicklin.


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