” Exposure to nature and the outdoors as a form or component of psychotherapy “

Full springtime immersion, feeding spring lambs and poking my fingers deep into their already thick fleecy head.

Local walks stolen between school drop-off and the various obligations of the day. Over the grimy crossroad and away from the the chip-shop stink. Tripping down concrete steps littered in broken plates ’til I reach the river path. The quiet. The wild place right on my doorstep. Coming nose to nose with buds and blossoms. Feeling the tickle of the catkin pollen and fur on my cheek. Pressing my ear, my chest into the thick trunk of a tree. Guessing the things it’s seen. Whispering in it’s scaly ear… thank you.

Rare child-free weekend away. Decadent in both it’s fine hostelry and it’s long fell top walks. Hours spent drinking local ale in a cosy pub and talking, talking, talking. Baths for no other reason than the time to do so and a really large claw foot bath that needed filling with hot lakeland water. Afternoon snoozes. Books. Poems.

Muddying boots and roseying cheeks and gritting up bitten fingernails with wet moss as I scramble and scrape my way over rocky fells.

Heart thudding, breath heaving, boots marching. Up. Up. Up. Relentless. Telling myself to just keep putting one boot in front of the other and I will get there.

I will.


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