Home from home

Another postcard from the land of grief

I am discovering that, no matter how far you travel here – the things you left in that old country are not far away. As I write this, I am more than 3000 miles from home, enjoying the company of loved ones. The language, and even the alphabet, are different. The skyline is different. Much of the food is different, and the climate is definitely different.

The climate of the heart, though, travels with you. The sun may beat down outside whilst it rains inside, or a wild wind may snatch at the heart and imagination whilst all around the air outside is as still as can be. Sometimes I think the frost of this inner Winter is thawing now. Then I catch a glimpse of an old photo or touch a familiar object again and the thermometer plummets.

One day, maybe soon or maybe not, these two climates may equalise, like warming the air up in an aircraft before the pressurised cabin is opened up on a blistering runway. Until then, I shall ‘always take the weather with me’, to coin a phrase.

 

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