You are here. Here in the place where my feet touched the grass and waded amongst grasshoppers with their high-pitched chattering. A kestrel hovers over the hill awaiting movement for a meal, above a city of toy buildings and cars.
You are here. Where I have laughed a thousand times with loved ones, played games of rounders and capture-the-flag, flown kites alongside my brother, mum and dad. I have slid down these slopes on a cardboard base and in snow compacted tightly, the sledge race, squealing in delight, just me and mum, when everyone else had got tired of the cold. You are here.
Here, where I have cried tears of loss, hope, grief and tears at the beauty of it all. I have held loved ones’ hands, closed my eyes and listened to the birdsong, walked down the valley with my dog and found slow worms, inspected all manner of beautiful insects where you are, here.
The woods have felt my footfall, and yours. You are here, where I have seen deer resting and found rare moths on warm nights with wonderful people. Where those you walk past say “hello” on the same path, going in opposite directions, we meet.
I have climbed these trees, crouched in the chimney and looked up. I found my freedom here, where you are. Butterflies have danced amongst the cows parsley and picnics, so many picnics. You are here, where we come to watch the sunrise, the sunset, the moonrise.
Where the balloons fly above on warm summer evenings. The excitement and sound of fire keeping them afloat. So many people gather to sit, to watch, to be, where you are. And I would be here if I could.
