You know that feeling, when you are indoors and suddenly you become aware of the four walls around you being a bit narrow. I am blessed in the house I live in as that happens less nowadays, but in previous homes, I’ve walked around the place like a caged animal. A sudden voice calls, bidding you to go outside, to go somewhere else, to find a place where you can just sit and be. It’s impossible to ignore it.

My house is a sanctuary – every room is calm. Outside there are small patches of garden, a swing seat, a table, an apple tree. Somewhere I can be quiet. Across the road is a field with a walnut tree and the owner has given me permission to go in there and sit or read, any time I wish. Further down the road is a public footpath, a field, a cluster of trees, woodland.  When that voice calls, I have to listen and go there.

When I was tiny, my dad used to take me up the woods. We’d walk for ages, and he’d point out names of leaves and birdsong and animals. I’ve forgotten too much of it. Then he’d poach a couple of pheasants and we’d go home.

After that, I got into tree climbing in a big way, and we kids would roam in gangs through the woods with a wax wrapper and a sandwich under our arms, a bottle of pop. Great times. We were a bit wild though.

School tried to tame me. I let it think that it did for a while. Education was a ticket.

Then I discovered wider travel. Wales, Ireland. Europe, Africa, India, Asia. More recently the US and Scotland.

Nowadays I take the camper van if I can. Or a plane. Some days I don’t want come home. France does that to me, and Skye. Recently, when I was researching The Wicked Lady in St Albans, I felt the pull to stay on. It’s funny how some places do that.

The area around Oxfordshire will always feel spiritual. So many other places make me think of special people, friends, family, memories.

This morning, I heard the voice calling to me again. I was at the laptop, finishing an edit, and there it was. Time to go, to down tools, to breathe the air. I’m on it.

I’ll go for a long walk tomorrow and see if that satisfies the itch. If it doesn’t, I’m off on a journey. I can’t ignore the voice.

Maybe I’ll come back with a new story, or something inspirational I can work on. I hope so. Then the rains will come, and I’ll seek the fireside until the wind brings that voice in again.

It’s too hard not to listen….