End of a pilgrimage

Sitting in the shelter of the hill we could forget the wind that had blown around us all day, but in the valley the white smoke of a steam train waiting at a signal is being whipped away furiously. None of us say anything. Above us the afternoon sun is trying to break through the white clouds. Eventually we start again, the final section of our journey. We've been walking for three days, beside rivers and over hills, in the sunshine and the rain. I can think of no better way I would like to spend my time.

A straggled line of weary walkers

Multi-colours the green hillside.

Thirty-five miles done and two to go,

The church doors waiting to welcome us home.