I write under the moon and starry sky in an ancient oak forest. I sit outside my tent after a nice hot meal prepared on my cook stove. As the moon rises the mist creeps across the meadow towards me. Off in the distance I can hear the stags battling it out with their antlers. It is the third time I find myself camping under this same oak tree. As I play my flute to the wild horses and deer, I feel like a character in some fairy tale or legend.
It is my last night in England. Tomorrow night I will sail for France. My friend Eric jostled my attention with his use of the word 'epic' to the describe things. Its a good word. My time here has been Epic.
I departed to England with much trepidation-- indeed fear. I left with great reluctance nurturing Northamerica where all my friends and family are to expensive England where I knew not one person. I planned only to be in the country for 10 days before escaping to France. I have now been here over a month! And, not only am I still alive, I am overwhelmed with what a rich time I have had.
The first time I found myself under this oak tree was out of desperation. A horrendous series of flat tires, mishaps, massive computer malfunctions and running out of money, forced me off the road into the forest to fix my bike and camp. I didn't even have water! It was exceptionally trying day that I dare say wounded me in spirit.
Yet here I am again under the same oak tree. All is not only resolved, but greatly improved. I have had a warm meal, my cloths are clean, my bike is in full form, my laptop purring nicely. I have water! I choose to camp here tonight to meditate on both that bad day and this great month.
I leave England having found love, crop circles, castles, cricket, white horses, medieval silver coins, stone circles, and countless adventures. I have run into an old friend, made new ones, learned some Welsh, partaken in feasts, and sampled many an ale. My ears have been graced by choirs and my eyes dassled by beautiful and ancient sites. Incredibly, I think I have even gained weight over here!
Having returned here to this oak tree a final time to heal and reconcile myself with some of the hardships that I have met and overcome, is extraordinarily symbolic. Again, its almost as if I am a character in some legend or myth. Joseph Cambell would smile.
France now beckons. I no longer cross over the ocean with fear. I no longer even cross with any expectations. What futility! Not even Nostradamous could have predicted what I have found here.