Scars

“He jests at scars that never felt a wound”

We all have them in some shape or form. Some may choose to hide theirs in shame or fearing that they may be ugly whilst others may be as a result of a much deeper cut and try as the person might, they still can’t hide the wound. 

Some are happy to display their scars, rightly and unashamedly wearing them as a badge of honour whereas others may like to give them some air to help the healing process by publishing them in the form of an online journal for the viewing pleasure of all and sundry.

I like scars. To me, they are a sign of a life being lived, of a risk taken, a clear indicator that something happened and there will be a story to follow. That story may not always be pleasant or easy to hear, but it will be an indelible part of the scar bearer.

The reason scars were on my mind today, was because I am lucky enough to be able to walk from my front door and within a short space of time be at the cairn on Cunswick Scar (extra) before hanging a left and heading over to Scout Scar. I like the cairn at Cunswick and on occasion leave a stone behind, not to mark my presence, but as a way of suturing any open cuts and leaving behind something I don’t need anymore. It lightens the load and enables clarity of thought for the remainder of the walk.

When I reached Scout Scar and could see the sea, I felt so light that I could have carried on walking until I reached it, but I was hungry and had exhausted my gummy bear supply, so headed home, enjoying a chance meeting with a couple of friends by the river.

The fire roaring away as I sit and review photos from a perfect long Winter’s walk, seems like a fine way to finish the festive holiday season.

Healing up nicely.