Journey

Mylor, Church Road: view of road.

Mylor to Penryn: plants growing on the verge and view of road.
Already the journey to you is a struggle; I’m so tired and my legs are aching from yesterday.

Road to Penryn: view over to hills.
There are tears running down my cheeks, and the sun, low in the sky, is drying them.

Penryn, Church Road: Travis Perkins.
This journey is about time. The time we take to make connections between us, the fragile threads we so easily break. It’s about the time we have through life, the things we miss, the stuff we see, the destination.

Penryn to Treluswell: workmen.
Some people travel so fast, seeing nothing. I’m plodding along, contemplating. Am I too slow? Against the flow?

Treluswell: Plastic in the verge.
The transparency is lost.

Treluswell: signs to Mylor.
This is a bigger undertaking than I’d expected. It’ll probably be dark by the time I get to you! How will I get home with no lights? I think it’s going to rain, heavily.

Treluswell to Ponsanooth: horses.
I can feel the spots and I’m unprotected against harsh elements. I’m watching the horses, some with blankets, some without.

Ponsanooth: wall and leaves.
Why does my mind feel so blank? I have good thoughts, but forget! I’m driven forward by the timer, stopping only when it rings. Every time it does, I’m 5 minutes closer to my goal, the end. Should my mind be so blank when the journey is actually racing by?

Pengreep: sky and trees.
The rain is falling now and my hands are getting colder. I’m hungry too.

Burncoose Nursery: bottle and hydrangea.
Sometimes I see such unexpected colour. Now I’m wondering whether I should amend this journey in some way to make sure I achieve it. What if I stop less often, will I see so much less?

Comford: trees, road and tree in flood.
Redruth is closer than I thought, so I’ll stick to my original plan. There’s so much detritus in the verges, you never really see it.

Lanner: blackbird.
I knew I’d find one, they’re everywhere. I can’t help looking, wondering was it worth it.

Lanner: tree trunk.
So cold I’ve stopped for soup.

Lanner: children’s playground.
Thinking about Rousseau’s Confessions, his journeys. Life is about the people isn’t it? The journeys you take with them, what they open your eyes to?

Lanner: crossing and road.
This is where you grew up, can you follow the threads?

Lanner: bus shelter.
I wonder what it would be like if I’d taken the other journey; would there be any shelter?

Lanner to Redruth: trees and road.
No matter how arduous this is I feel I have to continue. I must get to you.

Redruth: road signs.
I wish it was clear, by now I’d be able to see my goal.

Redruth: main crossroads/traffic lights.
Too wet. It’s impossible to write.

Redruth Tesco: flowers and sign, carts and ground.
I’m moving on from here now.

Road to Illogan: pylons.
The pencils were a good idea, but I’m so cold and tired now that I’m wondering if I’m seeing anything at all any more?

Illogan: tarmac.
The only thing that’s keeping my spirits up is knowing the warmth and welcome that you will give me. My hands are frozen to the bone after 4 hours of this and I can hardly write at all.

Illogan: puddle and drain.
These intervals seem to be getting shorter and closer. Camus, or was it Satre, Camus I think, was right - time is not constant.

Illogan: Puddle and memorial.
The water is pouring so much redder here.

Road to Hayle: muddy farm entrance.

Road to Hayle: Your cottage.