Halifax on Easter Monday

Before each match, I am filled with anxious energy. Each step out the house normally sees that inner turmoil dissipate but, today, my insides continue their frantic battle as I, alone, board the train. Even as the sight of rolling hills between each stop fills every pane of glass, my body feels the opposite of serene. Then, in Manchester, it’s all change. A new route, never before taken, is transformative. Limestone dwellings and tiny Yorkshire villages are discovered after being hidden away my whole life. Stepping off the Northern service, the minster town of Halifax offers further adventure. Its centre is sleepy on this Bank Holiday afternoon, while there are muted crowds inside the Piece Hall. My arms are brushed with sunlight for the first time in months as I give my father every detail of the scene before my eyes. Both of us look forward to the game and hang up the phone.

Peering at mountains
The sun lights up a new path –
Hills ready to climb

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