Every morning I make my coffee and go outside to sit on my bench. It is a length of slate set on stones, built into the wall of the house. The seat is cold at this early hour, but it wakes me up to the day, and here, we sit together.
I feel content like this, with our backs to the village. From here, my eyes run past the millstone, across the fields to the sea; and look back over the years. Through distant clouds, the trees on the horizon, the merging of sea and sky; the farther I look, the further back in time I see. And all that has happened exists still.
In spring I watch the greens unfurling: ferns, grasses, leaves. Delicately tinged with the hope of summer, I wrap the colours around me and hold them there for as long as I can.
With the hope comes longing, a lament for all the good things that did not last long enough. Happy memories I wish to keep for always. But memory is fluid, and the world is full of distractions. Here though, it is just us. The walls keep me safe and shield me from sadness.
This is where I feel closest to everything I love and have loved. Here I feel everything. I breathe the scents of the earth; inhale the blue sky. I smile, and the house smiles with me.
Lovely.
ReplyDeleteThank you Denise.
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