Here I am. I'm home. The home where I grew up and where my parents live, at least. It does feel like a home. I feel comforted by familiar sights from my childhood and I can view my surroundings with a greater appreciation as an adult.
I lived in Australia for 5 and a half years. It grew to feel like my home too. I came back to the Isle of Man 3 times since I left in 2007, 2 holidays and 1 short work contract. Each time I returned, I knew it was temporary. I was thinking about leaving as soon as I arrived. By habit, my subconscious did the same thing when I landed last week. The realisation that this is not a visit, that this is real life, that I cannot return to Australia to carry on my life, stung.
I find solace in the special places of my childhood. I've posted about Silverdale Glen here before. I grew up in a house that overlooked a watermill, boating lake, children's playground and woodlands. As a child I would be lost here for hours, seeing fairies at every step.
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| [silverdale] |
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| [silverdale] |
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| [silverdale] |
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| [our snow covered hills] |
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| [signs of Spring] |
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| [my new neighbours.] |
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| [there has been much, much tea drinking] |
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| [here's to new directions.] |
A nice cup of tea is the best welcome.
ReplyDeleteOh honey. xx I hope the transition isn't too terribly difficult. At least you are there for spring and summer to ease yourself back into an English winter. And just think you can just pop across the channel and visit Paris and I can live vicariously through you. Go to Italy for me and be my proxy. Go to Villers-Bretonneux on Anzac day for me and think of my great, great uncle who died somewhere near there. And I will bottle some sunshine and send it to you. xx
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