Where My Heart Lies.

Lately, as though standing still amidst a cascade, a tumult of warm rushing days, like bright ribbons that flutter and flick around us bringing outings and jaunts of the loveliest kinds, rekindling of friendships, forging new ones, I find my moments to pause, to take a breather, and literally breathe, watching the beautiful, colourful maelstrom of days that tumble on around us.

In amongst our days we have found ourselves weaving our way back and forth, up and down the coast, up and down this dear stretch of earth we are blessed to live in, south to wondrous beaches that are out of this world, north for an hour to our favourite city, and there, in between, nestled in a harbour, our home town.

And although we have not lived there for 15 years, this place has our hearts still, and I forget just how deeply rooted it is, and spending time there, more than fleeting visits to grandparents, has the effect of something like a burr that clings to us, burrows into our skin, finds our blood and floods our senses, and even as I write this I feel it, a flutter in my stomach. A memory.

Photo by My Only Girl.

So we climb our hill and lie in the sun, gaze out over the bay, and it is like an imprint somewhere deep inside me that possess me from the inside out, stirs up an unfathomable longing that cannot be shaken for days.

And yet....

....then we return home, to this little house just a few miles down the coast, where the sea booms down the chimneys, and jackdaws roost, the wind moans through the walls and whispers of ships and whales, where the reeds sweep and toss, cluster round us like old friends, murmuring words in our ears like 'comfort' and 'snug'.

And as the evening gathers, and the light slides along these walls of ours, I sink into the quiet that creeps out from the shadows as the children dash into the garden for the last bit of sunshine, I sit and listen to their voices, the laughter, that floats in the open window like little boats on the sounds of the sea, and a breeze stirs the curtain.

And as night finally settles in, I contemplate how it is possible to love two places equally, and that if I did leave here and go back, I would be no better off, for I would still love two places equally and it would simply be a mirror of now.

Photo by Líosa.

So we will quietly carry on loving two places, and watch the sun set over the mountains, the same mountains of home, and yes, actually, in the greater map of the world, they are, after all, one and the same.