We are spoilt with our waterways. Three are all within ten to fifteen minutes drive, each with their own character - The Garonne, The Lot and The Lateral Canal. At this time of the year the last is our favourite.
The great plane trees alongside the towpath have lost their leaves and the boughs that lean down to the water form a cathedral nave over our heads. On crisp, sunny afternoons the light streams through the bare branches. These are the days when we pop Bertie in the back of the car and ask: which way today? The walk beyond the gem museum? The one from the camping car "aire", where we are bound to meet and greet small fluffy things who want to play? Or the one that goes in a circle, over the first bridge, along the grass verge to the lock keeper's cottage, back over the second bridge, returning along the towpath to the car?
More than sixteen months ago we decided we needed to simplify our lives - each of us having had major health events. However, as John Lennon said "life happens when you are making other plans" and this year has slipped beyond our control. Now, finally, we are beginning to look hard at what our future might be.
These days of sun and walking and talking, pausing every so often to let Bertie catch up, have been our salvation.
The towpaths are a place for our dreams.
