First Day of the Rest of My Life

 I have not posted much of late. I have been struggling. Between completing the pioneering work on a possible Withburga Way between Holkham and Dereham in the summer of 2022 and today my health has gone downhill in alarming way. I'll never walk the route in a couple of days, nor yet in 3.  I'll never walk it.  The rapid onset Pulmonary Fibrosis has left me struggling for breath putting my boots on let alone walking. 

Yesterday, I went to St. Benet's Abbey, ate my picnic lunch in the car park and set myself the challenge of walking from the car park to the Abbey ruins. It is 0.35 miles and uphill all the way from from the Gate House to the old rugged cross that marks the site of the high altar at the summit.


The hill looked quite daunting -  "Who can ascend the hill of the Lord?" I sang under by breath.


Stopping often to catch my breath, slowly one foot in front of the other, I got closer to the summit.





There before the cross, wind in my hair, it felt as if the breath of God was being breathed into me. My heart dancing I named the birds - Cranes and a Hen Harrier and Fieldfares like Adam and his maker in the time of Man's innocence in the Garden.


 Then running my hand over the votive offering hammered into the cross, I prayed for the petitioners and, weeping over Jerusalem,  for the Peace of the World,

Downhill is easier for me and I soon reached the Gate House once again. By the river, the light of the setting sun was extraordinary as reeds waved in the breeze.


There were no styles or kissing gates on the route from car park and back so someone with a beefy enough, off-road, electric wheel-chair could manage.  

A seat by the Gate House might be as far as some pilgrims are able to manage.  Though they long to go further than the Gate House or elect to stay in the car there too the wind will blow, the birds will fly and the breath of God will breathe on all who respond to the call to come apart and rest awhile. 

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