There were clouds, but they were high and pale and I didn’t think it looked like rain. The temperature was pleasant, which was just as well as the track was beginning to become steeper, the stones more rocky and the dusty way more narrow. I was dressed for it and felt comfortable, not too warm, not yet. My trusty boots were stout and firmly laced, and the Shetland socks kept my feet comfortable – no blisters for me. If I had glanced down I would have seen my tanned legs striding at a steady pace, to make good speed up this hill. I was wearing beige cotton shorts, belted firmly and a paler shirt with the sleeves rolled high up my brown arms. My backpack was secure, and I grasped my staff feeling like a real explorer. I kept alert, my eyes scouting the summit above, great blocks and chunks of rock, a creamy white and seeming to glow against the grey sky. From time to time I would pause and glance back for a couple of seconds, looking down the fell-side, but the landscape below was empty of anything except rocks and sheep. If anyone had been there to see me, they would have seen a woman nearing middle age but vigorous and strong; she may have been more used to smiling, but now she was serious, almost grim. Her hair was dark and wavy, blustered by the wind, her tilley hat hanging on her shoulder.
Where was I? Where was I going, and why? Was I escaping something as I yomped up the hillside in my short shorts? I was amazingly fit, not the least breathless as I followed the well worn track. I was alert, ready, strong, and young, much younger than I actually am.
So where was I? I was in a dream, that’s where I was! Another vivid dream, but this time not wandering through a sunny red-bricked city, thronged with cheerful people, but marching vigorously up an imaginary hill!
Lois Elsden 