But today it's cold: wet and cold but beautiful. Water everywhere, collecting in puddles, knee-deep in clear pools around farm gates, swelling hidden ditches and exciting quiet rivers into torrents. Where the roads meet the bottom of the hill in Congerstone, the fields have been replaced by a huge, flat, black mirror. The entire landscape instantly transformed into another world. Not a soul around and, other than startled birds, it was perfectly still, as if it had all been there, unchanged for all eternity. All bold primary colours and simple geometry. As I change direction the wind strikes me with a whining frenzy out of a racing tempestuous sky. The clouds hurl over me, low and thick and furious. A short blast of rain lashes me in a torrential stream - cold and bitter, a great blustering wateriness. I briefly take shelter in a small wood.
|Stormy sky - Congerstone|
The storm quietens and I'm struck by shafts of golden sunlight piercing the dark sky and penetrating the land below. The rain stops - I'm back on the bike and on my way.