Good MorningSir ThomasAhh to be out in the Glenns early in Autumn… The mist filled valleys and over-ripe orchards are a song to God in all his magnificent wonder. Croaking frogs and, far off, the sound of distant crows perched among the falling Rowan leaves at Riveleux abbey.
There’s something about the way a mountain Ash clings and roots between the rocks. It’s as though stone and bark have agreed and their pact stands all the faster as the wild winter winds sweep over the ruins’ broken walls. I love this place. And it I! Such a long time spent walking here and there. Visiting in prayer, in thanksgiving, in reflection.
To the stream I think, and a meeting with the miller. I’m eager to hear more about his concerns - he’s not a man given lightly to worry or fear… His welcome’s always very welcome, amidst the pots and pans and his wife’s fine breads. It’ll be jams and tea, and what’s what by the fire. A fine friend’s always a comfort...