Path

The northern fringes of Brighton, where I live, look to the outsider like a solid swathe of surburbia. But it's not as simple as that. It's an area of parks and especially of little enclaves of woodlands, often reached through the sort of quiet path that people walk past without a second thought - a few steps receding between a couple of solid 1930s semis into wooded darkness.

My Sunday morning walk is a ritual, visiting these wooded places and enjoying the peace and calm. The last year has been one of change, to the point that I am doing things now that would have been almost inconceivable a year ago, and it's not over yet - there are big changes still to come. Quietly walking in the woods provides a sort of centred recuperation that matters a lot at the moment