I think Charles Dickens once said that an author should spend one hour walking for every hour that they spend writing and as the snow clamped its grip on the south-west where I live, last weekend provided a good opportunity to put this to the test. We went for two unbelievably beautiful walks. One was around Bishop’s Knoll in Bristol - a hidden corner of this astonishingly diverse city. We rambled round a ruined pleasure garden and Arboretum that was originally created in the Victorian age, although much of the planting dates back centuries before that. Set on a steep hillside overlooking the mudflats of the Avon, the place has a haunting and abandoned atmosphere - we were the only walkers.
We also went for an eight mile tramp setting out from Lacock and it was here that I really understood what Dickens meant. The chance to stride through the landscape for hours with your thoughts floating free and your senses ravished by the beauty all around can turn into something transcendental.
An abandoned canal near Lacock, frozen over
I came home feeling cleansed and inspired, worn out in a pleasant way, my body prickling with the cold. Something as simple as the sight of the crumpled texture of the bulrushes on a frozen canal somehow connects you to your source, so that when you sit down at your desk again the pictures in your head are more vivid and the creative air that you breath is fresh and clear.
Categories: Writing |