Commuting

Up while its still dark dark, the sun just threatening the horizon, kettle on, wash, layer up. Quick, bitter, too hot coffee. Hop on bike and roll out the estate. A few moments to settle and then dropping down to an empty town. No need for rat runs and quiet back streets at this time. Up and down. The towns old, so very old and follows the folds of the chalk hills it clings to. Through the high street, sun faded ‘sorry we’re closed’ signs testament to the strangest of years. Dodge the Range Rover wandering across the road, princess on board sign catching the light. Off the tarmac, hundred yards of broken and pitted concrete and onto the chalk. The chalk, I almost feel it should be capitalised. Long drag up, through the stables, let the annoyed faces and muttered comments slide off. Hoof rutted and wellie pitted bridleway. Through a gate and up. The faint hum of powerlines overhead. Downland opens up. Mist clinging to clumps of trees. Blackcap just as the sun breaks. Flying now. Sussex spread out to my right. Streat bostal. Try not to brake, let the tyres find their own line. Back in the shadow of the hills.