The fields were full of poppies, blood-red against the wheat, slowly bronzing in the sun. Pale winged butterflies danced across the sky, full of puffy clouds, unthreatening, for now at least. Hardly anything stirred, a heaviness lay in the air, like everything was too much effort. A breeze rustled the reeds, a duck slipped into the water, the only action of the afternoon. Everywhere still, everywhere resting, summer slipping slowly away on that breeze, dying like the day was.
I was helping out in the local primary school recently when a discussion came up about where countries were in the world. One boy exclaimed loudly that he’d “never left East Anglia” and there was lots of agreement; most kids seemed not to have either. It made me wish that I could give each one of them the chance to travel. To go somewhere new. Anywhere- it didn’t have to be far. It may be a cliche but I think being able to travel has made me who I am and has taught me more than I could have ever learned otherwise. It would be great if every kid could have the same opportunity; to explore, to roam, to learn.
There’s just something about daffodils. Seeing them stand proudly, being battered by the wind and frozen by the hail, born too soon. They normally start to bloom end January, early February but the cold spell this year lasted much longer than usual. So, they waited. Slowly, their yellow petals emerged, shining in the early Spring sun. Now, the whole drive-way is lined with them- golden daffodils, those optimistic flowers.
I realised that this was probably the last birthday I’ll spend at home. Home. That’s a loaded word, with so many meanings. Having a place to call home is important to so many of us, some people spend their whole lives searching for one. Having never lived in one place for more than three years, one might argue that I have never really had a home, many houses maybe, many places passed through, always transient.
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