Walking
A tree that marks the halfway point
Every route needs one. Mine is an oak in a field.
Karin Moberg
The loop I walk on Sundays is eight kilometres. At exactly four there is an oak alone in a field, with a fence going round it as if the farmer did not dare plough too close.
I stop there every time. Drink some water. Look back at the way I came. Then I walk home, which always feels shorter.
Seasons
Bare in winter, green in May, full of rooks in autumn. The oak is the only thing on the walk that changes more than I do.
