Holiday blog: But it’s all still there in my heart and soul.

The walk, the hills, the sky, the solitary pain and pleasure - they will all grow larger, sweeter, lovelier in the days to come -  like a treasure found then, voluntarily, surrendered. Returned to the mountains with my blessing. It leaves a golden glowing in my mind.

My mind and Edward Abbey's who wrote that in Beyond The Wall: Essays from the outside. ( Amazing how, sometimes, I find words that sum up so exactly what I'm thinking, feeling.)

Last day in the mountains yesterday. A wonderful hike called the Decker Loop. Strange to be walking over ground I've ski-ed so often. Hard to recognise with contours no longer softened by the pristine whiteness of billowy snow, but then I see the names of the runs and lifts on those familiar blue and white signs and know I've been there. Seventh Heaven. Harmony Ridge. Burnt Stew.

Walking's good for thinking. Oh the plans I've made in the last few days, the pondering! How I find it so much easier walking uphill and is this a metaphor for my writing, my life? My technique, yes. I see a steep slope, a challenge, then, head down, looking neither to left nor right, I storm along until I've reached the top. My Protestant  work ethic.

I chose the wallpaper for Matilda's room if the kids come to live with us, which sounds as though it might happen for visa reasons...

And named the chickens I'm going to purchase on my return. Miss Peck, Miss Flap and Miss Cluck.

After all, Nietzsche did say 'All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.'