There are many benefits to walking, but the best thing for me is, it clears my mind and helps me think. As child I’d often walk alone across the meadows beside our house. I was four years old when my mum found work in Summerhouse, a tiny farming village in county Durham, which is in the north east of England. She was employed as the housekeeper of a huge manor house, and with the job, came a small cottage. The cottage backed onto a beautiful meadow, which in summer was a mass of colour. Cowslips, bluebells, soldiers buttons, milk maids, butter cups and may other wildflowers who’s names I can’t remember thrived in that meadow. It was bordered by a small wood, where fairies played. Looking back I’m sure they were dragon flies, but my young eyes saw fairies. No fairies now, but I do chat with my (long departed) mum while I walk. I’m sure she hears me.
Travel Tales and Mishaps 