It was a rainy day so it is a story eve. Our Jack and I went for the walk across the barrens and marsh. Now tell me how would you describe the sound of wind driven rain hitting the cacooning anorak? That sound brought quicker than a photograph moments from 40 years ago.(Now read the rest of this with a Welsh lilt.)
I was traveling astride my metal steed down the boarder of England and Wales. The rain, cold wind driven, soaked m’knees as I pedeled up one more hill. Headed to Ludlow Castle a place I longed to be, it was on empty roads that wound around the roots of hills and along the streams until it headed up and up…. and up.
Oh it was cold! Dusk was upon me but the hostel no where in sight. I asked a lone farmer headed home for the night, How far? “Auct 6 miles yet, and all up hill.” And so it was.
But the day after – the buttresses of the past rose up from the fields where sheep grazed. Approaching the huge wooden doors a posted sign read, ” See the warden for the key.” The key a foot long piece of heavy wrought metal with curls and chords in my hand I tromped in my Wellies to Ludlow Castle. The old foot thick wooden door creaked as it swung open and there I be in the keep with sheep and naught else. A feeling of aged life – you ken me? ( for those of you watching Outlander) wafted between the hanging stones of lintels. I sat on a broken wall and dreamed of ages past.
