His head was a mess of thoughts and ideas and he couldn’t sort them out as they crisscrossed his mind travelling to the far reaches of the universe. Then he ran. He ran from a village high on the Yorkshire moors down to the bottom of the valley, back up through the secret woods, up to the knoll where the wind blew the tears from his eyes to the edges of the world, back down through the woods of the crags to the dean on the corner, across the tops and then the long climb to the top of the moors where the stones stand still and the wind never stops and sun never dries the ground. Here he stopped and took in all that was around him, alone on top of the world the wind blowing through his mind taking away all his doubts and fears far, far away where they could do no harm. He ran across the moor through mud and water, slipping and sliding as the moor tried to trip him up asking him how good he was. He showed the moor how good he was as he came off the moor smiling and crossed the road, down the green field of life and down into the heart of the clough surrounded by tall trees obscuring the sky. Up the steep hill he climbed, past the house of the famous poet and back to the warmth of his car, his head clear and free from the thoughts that threatened his very existence.
The Autistic FellRunner
I am a 52 year old male with a late diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome. I enjoy writing in all forms about people and life. I enjoy running over the moors where my mind can be free from the stresses of everyday life. I am currently studying for a PhD in autism and aging. I hope you enjoy my writing and please feel free to leave a comment. Thank you for taking the time to visit my site. View all posts by The Autistic FellRunner