Restorative Psithurism, Or Could it Be Freshing?

The glums have been prevalent again the last week or so. Moods are a series of ups and downs, regulated to some degree by the tablets. They seem to even things out – the highs are kept in check while the lows don't reach the full depths of despair, at least, not as frequently. But the moods still have wriggle room within these artificially imposed confines, and this last few days have been a bit flat, to say the least. I did manage a short trip into the woods for a mug of coffee, but that was as far as getting out and about went, my mojo had definitely gone awol. This also happened to coincide with some unseasonably good weather, with bright sunny days throughout the week, but frustratingly, I just wasn't in the mood to exploit them.

The forecasters had warned it would all come to an end on Sunday, as first the sun would be hidden behind some grey clouds, then rain would set in during the evening. So as Sunday dawned I tried to get things together and headed out, before bad weather would put me off even more. Not really able to decide where to go I just mounted the rattletrap Carerra and set sail, not particularly feeling the love. But as I pottered along the lanes, not really happy with proceedings, I found myself approaching a footpath I have explored before, and decided I'd mooch along that to get amongst the trees and bushes and away from the tarmac.

This footpath is one of those odd paths that goes from nowhere much all the way to nowhere in particular, with not a lot happening in between. It is also quite wide in places, although overgrown in others, and if you poke your nose into the edges enough, you find it is bordered along most of its length by Cornish hedges. These 'hedges' actually have stone walls lurking beneath their straggly green exterior, and often catch out the unwary motorist who collides with them expecting to bounce off with minimal damage. Unlike the dry stone walls found elsewhere in the country, a Cornish hedge is built with stones, packed and topped with soil. Over subsequent decades then, grass, weeds, bushes and trees will grow out of and onto the 'hedge', increasing its girth and height, while concealing its stone heart. This purposeful border suggests that this broad footpath was perhaps once a Drover's route, although I'm no expert on these matters at all, but it would fit with other similar paths in the area.

Footpaths are of course a bit of a no-no for riding a bike along, and I wouldn't dream of riding or even pushing the bike along many local paths as they see a lot of foot traffic and are tricky to navigate anyway. But other paths, such as this one that are remote from 'civilisation' and show evidence of either being little used, or as in this case, used by horse riders, well then I'll potter along them. Even at this time of year the tyres do no damage to the path, and the more folk who use them, the more likely they are to remain available for access, that's my reasoning/excuse.

For a remote rural footpath, this is pretty wide. This not being an old mining district, an old Drovers route is a possible explanation.

This path is also a nice and easy one for my creaking body to deal with. It's mostly flat and even, just the odd divot left by a horses hoof to negotiate, so I'm unlikely to become unseated and lobbed unceremoniously into the bushes.

So I bimbled my way along the short path, scraping past and ducking beneath some of the lurking brambles, accompanied only by the wind 'freshing' about the tree tops. I can't come up with a better word to describe the relaxing and invigorating noise right now - not a rustle, nor a roar, so freshing will do for me.

Actually, a quick Google finds Psithurism is the word given to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves and trees. I prefer my 'freshing' to be honest, it's easier to spell and pronounce for a start, and is onomatopoeic too - they really should've come to me first when wanting a word to describe this particular sound, my rates are very reasonable after all.

This ride didn't see me finishing up full of joy and happiness, but it did lift my spirits a notch or two. There is something powerful about just 'being', just 'living the moment', alone and out in the countryside, that restores a feeling of life where mere existence went before. I may not have been doing cartwheels or singing to myself on the rest of the ride, but I did feel a sense of refreshing renewal, and a more positive state of mind as a result of this brief excursion. I also felt the snags of a few brambles through my trousers too, but I can put up with those, they're a small price to pay really.