I've longed for this, away from the heat and intensity of home. The scent of autumn hangs in the air with the freshness of damp soil and the promise of rain. The chilly fingers of dawn, dissolved to dew with the sun, cling to each blade of grass. The wood is dark and cool, the soil underfoot turns to damp leaves and with each step I add the sound of snapping twigs to the birds calling and the sigh of the wind in the trees. It's a tranquillity I'm not used to, either as a child growing up in a city or as a woman living in a country where everyone knows your business and the only quiet time is the siesta, and that's only because everyone else is asleep too. Here, peace surrounds me; it's everywhere, in the cool breeze, the diluted sunlight - isn't it the very nature of the British to keep themselves to themselves. Mum doesn't pry, doesn't question. Not so in Greece, however laid back they are, they want to know what I'm up to, where I'm going, what I'm thinking: Alekos, Despina, his sister, aunts, uncles, grandparents, even Takis.
Through the trees the sun makes dappled patterns on the damp ground. Beneath my feet baby crab apples lie discarded like unloved toys, befriended by fawn mushrooms poking through the moss. I'm alone, unwatched, un-judged. Only my footprints give me away, imprinting the ground with my private pathway.
I emerge the other side of the wood and find myself at the bottom of Marshton Downs. I follow a rough path through stinging nettles and ferns and climb to the top. I can see across to Cley and the windmill, gleaming white in the morning sunshine. Beyond, a strip of dark blue sea meets the pale blue sky. Marshton village dots the landscape, snuggled between fields and trees. There's no-one for miles. I'm all alone but desperate to talk to someone.
