August

[Sweder]

How can I see what I’m leaving for
How can I give what I gave before
How can you tell me that you want me to stay
How can I stay when I’m trying to say
That I can live without the rain
Yes I can live without the rain

[SIZE="1"]Rain, Status Quo[/SIZE]

Hammering down it was, cats and dogs.
Coming in sideways, lashed in on the front of a mighty wind sweeping up from somewhere vaguely south-west of where I stood. Shivering, soaked, splattered with mud, happy as Larry. I surely do love the rain.

Splashed my way to Blackcap at seven this morning, hunched down in the face of the storm, hounds safely tucked up in their respective baskets shaking their heads at the masters' madness. Not a soul in sight as I thundered out and back. Visibility at the summit of WMH was about thirty yards, no more. Disgruntled sheep stood either side of the track, some snug in full woollen coat, others freshly shorn, quivering with unaccustomed cold as icy barbs stung their freshly exposed flanks.

On the return leg I exchanged Shearers and a 'nice weather' with Maria, one of the regular downland runners and a 1:30 Half merchant. The maniacal grin spread across her handsome features no doubt mirrored my own (well, the grin at least); there's something magical about having the downs all to yourself on a morning like this. The sun-dried grasses, burned whitish-yellow for weeks, took on a healthy golden glow. The grass and flint tracks offered fresh scent and perilous obstacle in equal measure, the various excreted offerings of sheep, cattle and horse turning to indeterminate sludge in places. Eyes down for a safe footing, folks!

Home in around fifty minutes, steam rising in great plumes from my rain-and-sweat soaked back. One of the best runs of the year for me; I hope this weather continues into the weekend, when the Yellow Brick Road may have something special and not altogether pleasant in store.