On the road, somewhere around Hampshire, a cog turned inside. The recent heaviness dispersed, I felt alive, sang with the radio, drove on and on and on. A surprise gift of Stonehenge in a passing field that brought tears of, what? deep connection, I suppose.
We nest, get creative with tiny storage space, walk tree-canopied lanes, run in the rain, battle with night heaters, splash through mud and greet passing ramblers. We meet neighbours, who paint, play cello, teach Reiki, make stuff, grow stuff.
Country church bells sing and the not too distant hoot of a steam engine regularly punctuates the dusk.
We carry Hessian shopping bags and for once look commonplace.
Between the sounds of village and wildlife, there is clear encompassing silence. Alongside both, we wriggle into our own rhythm.
This morning I caught a glimpse of migrating geese from my bedroom window. Not one to research 'meanings', I simply opened to the personal connection.
Journeyed to the right place.
Yes. Yes, I believe so.
p.s, I'll visit you soon my friends.