For almost as long as I can remember I wanted to live in Cornwall. It was a dream almost realised when my husband, the first David died whilst we were house hunting here.
I finally came here permanently when a friend offered to sell me his house. I accepted without even looking at it. Another dream was realised in my priesting. Being a priest in Cornwall was more than anything I could ever have wished for.
Living that dream , marrying the second David and having my son living in the next village has been almost more joy than anyone could bear.
It shattered last year when my son died at fifty. My world became enclosed, narrow, bordered by grief.
Now I find the dream returning slowly...I can walk quietly again through life, savouring the taste of the raspberries, hear the music, sing the Magnificat,
Nothing will bring my children back, but they are still part of my life. I may never walk another dog through the soft Cornish air, but my goldens are all around me still, not ghosts, but part of my daily presence....
The best poem to illustrate some of this yearning is by Yates. The Lake Isle of Innisfree.
I will arise and go now. And go to Innisfree .
A small cabin build there. Of clay and wattles made.
Nine bean rows will I have there and a hive for the honey bee.
And live alone in the bee loud glade.
And I will have some peace there
For peace comes dropping slow
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.
Where midnight's all a glimmer
And noon a purple glow.
And evenings full of the linnet's wing.
As I stand on the roadway and on the pavements grey
I hear it in the deep hearts core.
Written from memory. So please forgive the mistakes. You get the picture!
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