Walking by moonlight across the silent downs. Dodging artificial light and voices. Smelling the heavy, moist mist carrying the smells of shrub and gorse. Heavy woolen overcoat rough on my wrists and neck. Comforting in the way it drags at my shoulders. Comforting in its quiet heaviness, like the night, like the dark. Listening and thankfully, hearing nothing. Slow steps, for hours, brooding while the world sleeps, letting go of all the shit and pettiness.

I remember the renewal of my soul. I remember the calming. I remember the quiet, lonely, comfortable sadness that taught me what was wrong and what was right with my day.

Where now are the downs, the mist, the night, the woollen overcoat?