This week, someone suggested a new route for a walk - going through the pedestrian tunnel that passes under the River Clyde.  I was curious - having, in the past, been told very clearly not to go there, because it wasn't safe.

So here I was, about to walk somewhere new, not too far away from the familiar streets of home.

The tunnel is well lit, and well maintained.  It is also estimated at a ten minute walk - five down hill, five up hill - being something like 700m long.

As I yomped along the pedestrian path - separated from the cycle routhe by a strong barrier - I passed three people coming th eother way (it isn't really wide enough, someone has to flatten against the wall/barrier), whilst following two who were some distance ahead of me.

Emerging into the sunlight, I walked back parallel to the river, even discovering a new bit of river-side pathway to explore when it is less slippery underfoot.  And I saw familiar landmarks from different angles - the backs of buildings, thenetrances to car parks, and so on.

So, taking the tunnel walk was a good experience, and one I would repeat, at least in the middle of the day.  I noticed there is an intercom control, which I believe allows access to be regulated, and there is CCTV at each end, so I guess someone would notice if you didn't eventaully emerge!

I am missing my long, early morning walks, it has to be acknowledged, but it is good to get out and make the most of what is on my doorstep.

On Sunday we began a month-long series of services on the theme of hope.  Three friends shared thoughts on hope, we sang hymns/songs that expressed a variety of writers' understandings of hope, we broke bread and we prayed.  As I led intercessions, I found myself using the phrase 'may their hope be active, may their hope be strong', echoing the thoughts others (and indeed I) had shared.

Yesterday I enjoyed a long walk (around nine miles) about half of which followed the River Clyde into the city centre.  The sky was blue, the sun was bright (dazzling if you turned south-east).  The path itself varied... in places it was completely clear and dry; in places it had sparkly white frost; in places it was sheet ice.  But whatever the underfoot conditions, it led me to the city centre.  And I think that's a bit like hope.  Sometimes it is easy, sometimes it is challenging but fun, sometimes it is hard work and even risky (the mother of fools, as the Lithuanian proverb would express it), but it keeps on - it is active; it is strong.

In the afternoon, I settled down with a book, a cup of tea, and an iced bun.  The news alert on my smartphone disrupted my reverie, as I heard and read that Scotland (and within a few hours the entire UK) is back in lock down.  I absolutely think this is the right call, and is, ultimately, a hopeful - or hope-filled - call that will help control this deadly virus.  It needs action.  It needs strength.  It isn't fun, it isn't what we want, but it is what will lead us on the journey to a brighter future.

I chose this photo to share not just because I loved the sparkly frost on the path, but because it shows the destination as well as the route towards it .  Of course we need to look down and check our footing (even doing so, on a couple of previous days' walks I ended up flat on the pavement!) but we also need to look up and look around us... savour the beauty of the moment in which we find ourselves, and catch a fresh glimpse of where we are going.

Locking down again is hard, disappointing, frustrating - but it's just another stage on the journey to the future.  As we journey onwards, may our hope be active, may our hope be strong.