Most of you are familiar with my friend at work, the lovely Hobbit who I tease so much. Well I invited him to write a guest post for Lucid Gypsy and he said yes! I hope you read and enjoy getting to know him a little, he is a gem!

Silence. Alarm. Silence.

I have been an avid reader of Gypsy’s blog for a while. I was chuffed that the other day, she asked if I would like be a guest blogger.

I’ve been thinking about what to write every day since. It had to be something relevant. It had to be a worthy event to justify someone taking the time to read it. Then I thought – keep it simple. Just write something.

Yesterday I was suffering from a common winter cold.

I struggled through the morning at work before I’d had enough. I negotiated a half day’s holiday. Besides, I wasn’t getting much sympathy at work – ‘Please don’t spread your germs around the office’ were the kindest words of support I was offered. Although I am sure it was meant with a slither of compassion.

Log off computer and shut down. Off I went.

The sensible thing to do would have been to go home, have a hot drink and go to bed. No. I was determined that as the cold weather had largely contributed to my cold, it could at least try its best to offer some sort of consolation. It didn’t disappoint.

There is a remote piece of wilderness on the edge of Exeter that is a favourite haunt of mine. It is a relatively small bundle of fields, trees and streams teeming with wildlife.

I’ve been there a thousand times – a regular visitor since I could barely walk. But yesterday I appreciated it more than usual.

You know that feeling you get when you wake on a Saturday morning, still sleepy, steeling yourself for the day ahead, still thinking its Friday, and a work day? Then comes the mini-euphoric realisation that it’s the weekend – extra minutes to laze in bed. Those extra minutes seem precious.

I hadn’t expected to be visiting my wilderness yesterday. Mini-euphoria.

It was silent and peaceful. The high ground was coated in snow.

The silence was briefly interrupted by the bang of a game-keepers rifle. This set off a sequence of bird alarm calls that sounded ten thousand strong, all shrieking in stereo.

Silence resumed.

The only sound was snow falling to the ground intermittently; its icy grip loosening from the frozen branches above.

Suddenly, a Jay crashes through the branches, barking out it’s disapproval at something in the woods as it flew hurriedly across the field.

The best of all though, arrived with no sound.

I had been walking for about an hour and the weather was biting again. I headed back to the car mindful of the worsening conditions.

I thought I had witnessed the best the afternoon had to offer, until the perfect picture.

The sight of a red fox staring at me in a field covered in snow. He knew I wanted to take his picture.

He posed, almost boastful of his glossy, shiny red coat. I rustled into my bag to grab the camera. I was ready for the picture. Nonchalantly, he turned away and disappeared into a mass of trees and snow.

I must learn to be a sharper shooter. A more sophisticated camera would certainly help.

What could have made my walk better?

Well, I guess it could have been slightly less chilly.

I suppose I could have taken the dog with me.

Maybe two of my equally enthusiastic photographer friends, who share my admiration of the countryside, could have joined me.

But then they would have probably caught my cold – and sympathy would have been even less forthcoming.

Even so, I wish every Thursday afternoon could be like yesterdays.

I would quite happily tolerate a cold each time to make this happen.

Simple.

Hobbit