averilburystedmunds: The Simple Life.

Early one morning in Bruges.

Reflections along the Groenerei.

Somehow, certainly by chance and then habit, but now by design, I have discovered the joy of the early morning walk; first in Bruges over the last several years. There, after rising early simply because I awake early in these, my mature years, I wandered one fine sunny morning along the towpath of a canal nearby and found so many delights in studying the art of the architecture; examining the assembly of boats along the Coupure; taking in the mediaeval houses in the numerous narrow, ancient streets; enjoying the longer views lit by early morning sun and loving the scattered monuments and statues and the gilded embellishments of centuries-old holy places. The pleasure was intense and lasting so that, come the turn of time and season, it mattered not that it was gloomy or rainy or cold; I almost needed to walk and absorb the landscape.

In the Abbey Gardens this week..

Cow parsley submerging headstones in early May.

That pleasure has continued in Bury where good fortune means that there is history and beauty all around and also the constant but surprising feeling that the early part of the morning here is mine! It seems, as suggested by Henry David Thoreau, that “an early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.” Originally I stepped the Bury streets, old and narrow and lined with various shops, coffee shops and cafes, banks and insurance outlets and, twice a week, the splendid chaos of town-centre markets. I found the Abbey Gardens an early magnet, situated both near me and offering green and floral spaces with the delightful little aviary and the magnificent ruins of the tenth century Abbey, stripped of its original stone down to the foundation walls of flint and random stones. More recently I have settled into often following the pretty Circular Walk which takes me back to the centre through the Great Graveyard which I love. There over the last few months I have taken pleasure in seeing the cow parsley bloom and flourish so that, by early May, it frothed white and rampant, chest-high, rendering the venerable headstones, apparently scattered randomly over a large area, engulfed by the wind-blown blossoms. Now the blooms have turned into seed heads, the feathery fronds of high grasses grace the mixture and the profusion is green but remains wild and abundant.

Misty, moisty March meander!

Nearing Angel Hill, my walk enables me to catch the windows of the Tourist Information; the Cathedral Shop; the Hunter Gallery and I find pictures and scarves I would love to buy, before I walk towards the Angel Hotel, always in my mind as the Dickens’ Hotel and head to home. Now that I have adjusted possessions and psychology to the smaller apartment I now have, I savour entering, opening the door to the terrace and taking instant pleasure in the sudden brightness of light with the flowers and plants beckoning.

St Johns Street, Bury, full of interesting small shops.

Somehow, an early morning saunter confers a sensitivity on mundane but refreshing pleasures and on the individual who simply went out to stretch her legs and take a breath of air! As John Burroughs remarked about walking, “ these are some of the pleasures of the simple life.”