I’m sat at the cottage, near Hereford in Wales. Last time I was here was New Year’s Eve 2014 – the times before that are too many to have kept track of.
As I write, Freya and Beth are sitting on the sofa sewing felt animals, underneath the painting you can see in the photo above.
I like that there are lots of things that have remained as constants here in a way which the rest of the world has not, it brings a certain level of comfort.
I’m happy to be here; here is a familiar place.
And today I got up late and read the Guardian and Freya learned that she’s got a job, and I had lunch with my family who came here briefly on the way back from a week away. I got to chat with Dad and catch up on family and work news, and hug brothers 2 and 3 who are both growing height-wise at alarming paces. And then we said goodbye-until-September, and I caught up with Freya some more in the kitchen.
The past hour I’ve been reading poetry (I like this one) whilst the weather out the window has kept on changing between rain and sun.
I like the sense of quiet here and being able to watch a butterfly clamour at the window. And I like being the same height as the door frames, and thinking about Lucy and Neil and other friends being in Cambridge at Beth and Gideon’s wedding.
And yesterday evening watched the world go by and the sun start to set on the train, and I liked that too. And it made me feel silly about my reluctance to be travelling yet another weekend.
Because I like here.
Wonderful and thoughtful post.
So much of that which means so much to us is found in our past. Order, security and pace that is so lost to those trying to make their way in a contrary world. It baffles me that so many turn their backs on tradition. For that is where the best of who we are and have ever known remains.
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