The light leaves the valley at about four now. It goes off the far side of Heptonstall first, then down the beech woods, then out of the kitchen. In summer I write late. In October I move the work to the morning, because the afternoon has a way of folding up before I've noticed. This week I walked to Gibson Mill and back in the rain, and wrote two pages in the café that I'd been failing to write at the desk for a fortnight. Walking does that. It loosens whatever is stuck.
Walking loosens whatever is stuck.
Note 1
Gibson Mill is a 19th-century cotton mill in Hardcastle Crags, now run by the National Trust.
Note 2
