So, I've got a confession. Today is the last day of the summer holidays and I'm GLAD! I feel like a crap mother for saying so, but it's the honest truth. Most of my friends have told me how sad they are to see their children go back to school, and how they have loved every minute of their offspring's company for the past six weeks. Something inside me feels mean and squirmy when they say that, and I think to myself "Oh God, I'm the only one who can't wait." I love my children dearly, and dream of summers spent happily picknicking in the sun, working together in the vegetable garden and going for long walks across the moor. But the reality is slightly different. As much time is spent bickering or sulking as it is giggling together. We've had a lot of fun, but I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a selfless martyr, and I want my solitude badly.
This evening the wolf and I escaped for a rare moment alone. We walked on the moor in the evening sun, and I lay, barefoot, on the granite outcrops, listening to the silence, feeling almost tearful at how badly I craved the sun, and the wind, and a land without voices.
The wolf and I looked at our faces in the scrying pool (before she dropped a tennis ball in it - a lucky find as we walked up the hill!)
I looked out over the vast expanse of grassland and heather, and dreamed of setting out and just continuing to walk. One day I will be able to.