Journeying always throws me. I belong nowhere, I’m in an no mans land with only the occasional respite from a cold, bleak motorway service station. And then there is the unpacking and getting used to the smell (now unfamiliar even after only 3 days) of home. I cleave to spaces. I make homes of them if only for a brief time and the leaving of them (and all their as yet unexperienced possibilities) is a wrench. Don’t get me wrong I love my/our home but it is my place of work too and I long for a longer, more sustained escape (and one that is free from obligation, however wonderful). And seeing them was wonderful. Those brave, strong little bodies so full of life and hope. How I love them. And her. And her.
There is a red light shining on the war memorial. They make it red every November. It is a gentle and poignant tribute. And we forgot yesterday. I am ashamed.
