Grey-green

It had rained heavily overnight but in the warmth of July the paths were already dry by the time I set out for the morning walk.  No sun though, grey and overcast, and you had to pay attention and look for the things that make you catch your breath, that make you happy. I'm trying to make a point each day on my walk to find something that does exactly that.  I would almost term it a spiritual practice but that's far too formal and solemn and not what the exercise is about. Today it was the soft, muted grey-green of the trees (willow, rowan, sycamore) bordering the river. 
 
The start of the river path is marked by a group of three tall and majestic aspens. (I do love the French word for the tree: le tremble).   Is it fanciful to say that these trees have an aura?  Well, too bad because they do.  The leaves rustle and quiver, whispering, at the slightest hint of a breeze. I draw breath and relax a bit each time I enter the glade.

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It's Tour de France time again!  I'm a fan. This year it's starting in Yorkshire no less, and ITV4 is as usual doing us proud with its coverage.  I have to admit I watch as much for the fabulous scenery as for the finer points of the race itself but there is just enough jingoism left in me to hope, probably vainly, for a British win.  More than that though I hope that the race is clean.