Well. Apparently the whole valley boomed and lit up with hundreds (if not thousands) of lightning strikes. The cool and warm breezes I felt yesterday while walking were magnified in the upper atmosphere. There was a war going on up there, and the victor had not yet been declared. In other words, we awoke to rain, lightning, and thunder.
Cab? I said.
Mercifully, it was a relatively short walk of seven and a half miles. Unmercifully, it climbed way up and descended way down. From the town of Dursley I could see a tower of some sort way up on a hill. Uh, oh, I thought, I know what this means. Yep.
As we sloshed our way up the hill, Tom kept reading his now rain-soaked guide. There apparently were 120 steps that we'd eventually get to if we weren't roasted by the lightning. Oh, boy, I thought, 120 steps. These steps would lead us to the tower, a monument someone erected in memory of someone else. (They're big in these parts on erecting memorials on tops of hills, then creating lots of confusing footpaths up to them.)
At one point in the forest travels, the way was so dark that Tom could not read his guide. I kept wiping my glasses off, but it wasn't my glasses that were the problem; it really was foggy and dark.
Cab now? I thought.
All the while we were walking through the forest to get to the tower, I could hear the booming of thunder. Sometimes it was scarily close. As we neared the top, a sign proclaimed the 120 steps closed until further notice. Oh, boy, now what. I was worried that we would be circling the hill to get to the top. Circling and circling. The 120 steps didn't look so bad any more. But I needn't have worried. It was a simple long switchback that took us to the top.
The tower was set in a meadow. That's right. An open field. With lightning and thunder.
Yaaaa, I said as I ran to the tower.
Do you want to go up the tower? asked Tom. What, I said, are you nuts. Yaaaa, I said, as I ran from the tower to the "safety" of the next set of woods. The actual paths weren't so bad, but they were dark and endless and slippery.
I was sooooo happy to reach the town of Wotten-on-Edge. Of course, the rain, etc. ceased shortly after we arrived. We had gotten to town two and a half hours ahead of when we could get into our B&B. We looked like drowned rats and smelled worse, but the local pub let us in. Sit anywhere you like, they said. I love rural communities.
Below are pictures taken from the window of the bedroom. This is a priceless view. I can't help looking out. There are usually cows in the pasture. When I took the picture, they must have gone home for a little bit. But now that it's late evening, they are back. Goodnight, cows.
This is what I saw at about 1:30.
See that vague, looming shape on the top of that hill?
Mud! It was like skating.
Instead of the 120 steps, we got to climb Mt. Everest.
Yes, it was stupid.
Apparently there's a nice view from the top. I'll never, never, never know.
This is one of the views from my bedroom window.
This is another view from the bedroom window. Note the blue skies.
As I was running from the tower, I took this picture of the valley below. I'm sure it's spectacular, but all I could see were the dour and nasty skies.
This is my flower picture for the day. From the garden of my Wotten-on-Edge hostess.
