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It is the summer of droughts when we booked a cottage in the heart of Devon, in a forest with a river running smoothly by, rushing almost past our doorstep. I am tired from work; the last few months have been challenging. My youngest daughter starts secondary school in September. She is anxious about the move. She hasn’t been sleeping. Somehow our lives feel splintered with change. There have been health problems in the family, the phone has been ringing constantly with ongoing concerns. The pressure is bubbling up through my shoulders, making my neck tight, my jaw clench.
I am swearing as I drive down the country lanes, blindly following the car’s sat nav. The lanes are no wider than a hair’s breadth. Brambles whip the sides of the car, I suck in my breath, turning tight corners, praying that we won’t meet another vehicle.
