Floods

The awful wet weather of this Summer had kept us away for a few weeks, but time was pressurising us to cover some more miles of our route, and, if we were to be on schedule to finish in time for Mark's birthday in October, we needed to get a move on!
Entering Wallingford our determination and energy levels rose. We parked the car in a long stay carpark and, after a false start, we eventually found our way to the river and set off once more. I had worried that the path might be under water, but it wasn't. It was certainly wet and extremely muddy, but safe enough. The river, however, was a sludgy brown, the water dun coloured with mud and silt, churned up from the depths of the river bed. Quite a contract to the clear slatey green we were used to.With the river to our left and lush meadows to our right, we stepped out, aiming to cover the 14 miles to Tilehurst near Reading.
Nature in all her abundance surrounded us; proud families of ducks, curious and hopeful of some leftover sandwiches and playing follow my leader; beautiful brown butterflies, making the most of each moment in their short, but amazing lives, giddy with gladness; sapphire dragonflies danced in front of us, the choreography known only unto themselves; clover flowers wore their purple crowns with pride, their leaves tempting us to stop and search for the elusive number.
Patches of humid heat rose from the damp vegetation surrounding us, verdant and luxurious, almost rain forest like in its lusciousness. The grasses had grown taller, the willows wept deeper into the water and the hedgerows were heaving with buds, blossom and wild blackberries and, as ever, the incessant drone of insects happily humming as they busied themselves amidst the densness.
We have a strain of perenial geranium growing in our garden called Johnson's Blue and there it was growing wild through the spiky hawthorn, intertwined with the blushing pink of a rambling rose rising from the top of the hedgerow, the pretty colours patchworked into the myriad of different shades of green, dewy cobwebs sewing Nature's seams together.
As we passed along the edge of Pangbourne Meadow the cries of pairs of red kites pierced the occasional blue patches of the sky, the sound left hanging in the air long after they became tiny black dots high above us. We stood and stared for a moment or two mesmerised by this defiance of gravity.
A field of corn caught the eye, the upright ears desperate for the ripening sun to finish the next chapter of their story. Psalm 65 slipped into my mind and God as Creator and Provider was evident all around us.
The river slipped silently beside us, full and strong, her powerful currents sweeping and shaping time and place. There was a confidence about her, as if she had begun to settle into herself, an assurance that she knew what she had to do and was content to do it, and an acceptance of her role and the responsibility that comes with it. Thoughts flooded my very soul that Mark too had come to a place in his life where he too was beginning to settle. He knew what he wanted, who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and the germ of a plan for the future that was taking shape in his head. Longing flooded my innermost being, the empty space of him and caused the ever present tears to blur my vision for a while.
Lunch outside at The Swan Hotel was pleasant with the river lapping the edges of the terrace and  the antics of a serene swan amusing, as he bullied the irritating ducks relentlessly, whilst retaining his calm pretence. An attentive waiter brought fluffy towels for us to sit on; a welcome scrap of comfort. Then the rain came.........it was sudden, chilling and spirit dampening. We waterproofed ourselves and set off again for the final 6 miles of the day. The rain stopped as suddenly as it came, but it made the climb through Hartslock Wood difficult to negotiate. Step upon weary step we headed on, led by pure white heart-shaped petals, like a forgotten fairy tale in their improbability.This was the first time we had walked above the river and, as the fields, the Downs and the villages floated past in the distance, it was difficult to imagine the river flowing far beneath us, secretly unseen.

The path through the woods dropped us close to Tilehurst with just Mapledurham Lock and a welcome cup of tea to go, and a trek though a housing estate to the main road. We were nearly there, but a map malfunction meant we missed the railway station completely and we ended up back on the path with another three miles to go to the edge of Reading. Pain flooded every part of me as my knees flared hot, and my back, strained by compensating for the mud and my non-working knees, screamed and slowed me almost to a standstill. The remnants of a watery rainbow coloured the slatey sky offering us hope and, heads down, we trudged on. An agonising hour later found us in the back of a scruffy taxi being driven carelessly back to Wallingford for a exhorbitant amount of money. Then.......we couldn't remember where we had left the car. It wasn't as though Wallingford was a big place, but it did have numerous carparks. A kind man, a helping hand and two Neurofen later and we were on the M40 and on our way home to a hot bath and a clean bed and the wistful thought that we didn't even say goodbye to our river this time. Hope she didn't mind too much.