At 09.32 Saturday morning the queue outside the Tattoo shop in Gleadless had 6 people in it.
4 blokes and two women all in tee shirts, it was cold, as I passed them they were lost in each other
Check it out !
Tribal.
The dividing line between sunshine and mist, Autumn and Summer sat fixed over Hathersage.
Cold toothed air forced my attention into setting off over the moor.
Pads on, rucksack sorted, a thousand times familiarity over the heather, alone, a wry smile.
On the path a lone girl in harness staring out, she was frozen, I walked past she didn't blink, trapped in her envelope of morning slow time.
On the crag, a bottom rope is up on the Arete next to Sampson. They are trying hard in the trying hard conditions before the sun crests the grit edge.
He wont break the kinaesthetic barrier.
The woods are quiet and in conversation with the goddess, I sneak through loathe to force attention my way.
Its good to be alone. Good to feel things as they are....
Later, forced down into the valley by the assault of blood suckers, I notice the valley filling with pads and snake chains of virtuous ramblings, the clank of hexes over the warming air.
Max and Ash the weak are there in the sun, its been a while, its good to have company.
We climb and chat, the group grows. The climbing takes over we are oblivious to all other things
We are
Tribal
