For days we have had rain. All morning it was wet though just before we left it dried up, but was very windy. Now on the journey to the hospital, to hear the scan results, there is bright sunshine, although the roads are still very wet.
Deciduous trees are almost bare and all rivers are full to overflowing. I can see the sky reflected on the flooded areas of flat fields and road edges.
We drive quietly. We are both sober. The uncertainty of the last three months has been bad enough, but the strain of the last three days has been almost unbearable.
Pylons march across fields reminding me of the Eiffel Tower, they stand sentinel at the roadside between the turning for Westmill and the village of Buckland.
Here and there is evidence of the high winds in the trees, having blown down on the verges and roadsides. In a field on the right-hand side is a dwelling – once a windmill. I wonder what it is like inside. Does it have curved walls? Steep chalk sides bound the road on either side now – very ivy-covered in places.
Cambridge is 13 miles away. 12 miles away. 11. Put Coldplay on the stereo.
The sky is very black and angry, and silhouetted against it is a rising and falling flock of white birds. Perhaps they are not white – it may be a trick of the reflected light against the clouds’ blackness. How can the sky be so black and yet the sun be shining so brightly? It feels like a reflection of my fear and hope.
Black sky, wet roads and cars with their headlamps on.
In Trumpington now and passing the turning for Grantchester – these so familiar names from researching the Howe family history, so many of Mike’s forbears came from this area.
A thick rainbow rises from a belt of green trees ahead.
Turning off now for the hospital at the end of this road. The windscreen is splattered, as if the drops are my tears being held back, but only just, because my fear is great and my sorrow at what might be is even greater.
No comments:
Post a Comment