The Curtain on the Road.

As we go through life we do so with a constant, if hazy, view of the road in front of us. We can never be sure what will be lying in wait to delight, disturb or frighten, but at least we proceed with a good measure of confidence that it’s there.

I’ve reached a point at which a curtain has descended ahead of me and the further progress of the road has become hidden. It could be easy, it could be hard, or it could be the final short and rocky stretch to the terminus. It’s been there for a few weeks, and now the old neurotic tendency is taking precedence over my innately optimistic nature. I’m constantly having to push away the presumption that the worst scenario is about to reveal itself.

Meanwhile, the natural cycles of the Shire are carrying on regardless. My garden has snowdrops, a few crocuses and primroses, masses of daffodil shoots, and a premature showing of bluebell leaves. The daffodils in Mill Lane are ahead of ours further up the hill as usual. They have flower buds to prompt the fond imagining of a golden horde which will soon grace the verges and the hedge bottoms. And the first shoots of wild garlic are presenting their credentials on the high embankment of The Hollow. Being unable to look forward to the glory of spring and summer with my usual practiced presumption is, for me who loves it so much, a somewhat dispiriting experience.