I am running through the wondrous silence of history
past standing stones, invisible
tombs, the route Chaucer's pilgrims took across the North Downs, the stone cold
dead in churchyards, listening to the sound my feet make on lanes, on mud and
stone, sharing my breath, the thump of my heartbeats, with sheep, the sky, the
fields. Sometimes I wonder how I got here, what propelled me forward to this
moment when the snags of fleece along a wire fence shine with glory, when another
the bend in the road ahead is an inspiration not a defeat. And I think of the words, 'yes', and, 'you
can', and the centuries of women before me who said them out loud, or quietly
to themselves, believing that something could change and making it happen for themselves, their families, communities and for the world. And here I am, each step, each clear thought changing
almost nothing, which is still something, and feeling better for it.
