Recovery Time
Feb. 22nd, 2023 11:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootStrangely weary, I don't quite get why. R thinks I am still a bit ill, I'm certainly hacking somewhat. Covid's affected my voice, which, while never great, was a reliable contralto. Now my voice breaks up at notes that were easy to reach, I don't know ifI need to practice breathing control or what. It's a bit distressing but eh, it's not like the world of opera was waiting on my arrival.
Helping the rangers on the country paths up at Witchcraig; a new path's surface has been washed away by a lot of rain on the hills, so some tamped it back down, and I helped dig a run off ditch. The good news was that I could press my foot down on a spade without pain for about an hour and a half. It's a lot better than it has been.
R drove us away over the hills towards Ravenscraig and Cairnpapple; the morning had been soft with rain, all moss and lichen and dripping branches, and now the mist rolled in quickly, so that despite it being midday it felt like the twilight zone. I suddenly realised that the hills are strange. This is a place where people see things and go missing, a place where you should take care if you are by yourself. The mist hung so thick and low over the road and fields, I wouldn't have been surprised if Captain Jenk's manservants suddenly filed out followed by Flight 19 and the Lost Legion of the 9th. It occurred to me that if the road by Witchcraig could have this sinister edge at lunchtime, a foggy night here could be a real recipe for the heeby-jeebies. No wonder campers complain of something out there watching. I'd sleep in the car.
That night, we headed over to see some friends, for a delightful night, and all the spookery vanished. It hasn't come back, the Genius Loci is holding its breath for spring just like the rest of us...but I won't forget how this inocuous little place can look when it takes on a different mood. And I suppose, as is ever the way with adventurers, I should really try a little hillward trek. But not yet.
Helping the rangers on the country paths up at Witchcraig; a new path's surface has been washed away by a lot of rain on the hills, so some tamped it back down, and I helped dig a run off ditch. The good news was that I could press my foot down on a spade without pain for about an hour and a half. It's a lot better than it has been.
R drove us away over the hills towards Ravenscraig and Cairnpapple; the morning had been soft with rain, all moss and lichen and dripping branches, and now the mist rolled in quickly, so that despite it being midday it felt like the twilight zone. I suddenly realised that the hills are strange. This is a place where people see things and go missing, a place where you should take care if you are by yourself. The mist hung so thick and low over the road and fields, I wouldn't have been surprised if Captain Jenk's manservants suddenly filed out followed by Flight 19 and the Lost Legion of the 9th. It occurred to me that if the road by Witchcraig could have this sinister edge at lunchtime, a foggy night here could be a real recipe for the heeby-jeebies. No wonder campers complain of something out there watching. I'd sleep in the car.
That night, we headed over to see some friends, for a delightful night, and all the spookery vanished. It hasn't come back, the Genius Loci is holding its breath for spring just like the rest of us...but I won't forget how this inocuous little place can look when it takes on a different mood. And I suppose, as is ever the way with adventurers, I should really try a little hillward trek. But not yet.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}