Evening

Fulwood Booth Farm

It was late when I decided to drive out of the city for a short walk in nearby countryside. 

I parked Clint on Fulwood Lane at the top of Roper Hill and the first sound I heard was the distinctive call of a curlew. It is a memorable and plaintive sound. Then I heard another and watched as she winged her way over unkempt grassland, her long beak curling down to the earth. Perhaps they were nesting in that rough pasture.

I walked on, passing a farm called Fulwood Booth before descending to Redmires Reservoirs. It was a lovely warm evening with the sun slipping down over Stanage Edge, gilding the edges of this northern city.

And as I walked I thought about Simon whose life must surely end in the next few days. It could even end tonight. We are travelling over there again tomorrow. I plan to meet up with a newly assigned Macmillan nurse. The previous one only visited Simon once in the past seven weeks.

How nice it would be if he could die peacefully in his own bed - just drift away without pain. Stepping from his dreamworld into that  inky darkness that lasts forever and ever and from which we can never return.

Shirley and I are supposed to be heading down to London on Friday for two nights. It may or may not happen. If he does pass away there's someone else who could be there for him - an old girlfriend who has returned from southern England to see him before he goes. Simon never once mentioned her to me. We only learnt of her existence yesterday.

Today she messaged us to say that he had had another fall and has cut his nose. Apparently the local doctor came to have a look at him and said, "It's not as bad as it looks". Mmmm...we'll see tomorrow.

The evening has now passed and a super moon is rising above the rooftops.

View to Lodge Moor from Roper Hill