Monday, 6 September 2004

changing seasons

I get melancholy at this time of year in the town - I heard wild geese flying overhead yesterday and it made me wistful for the country. I sometimes feel that I am trapped here, surrounded by concrete, and that I will never get out.



It's illogical - I have chosen to be here, with B, and I am happy here. I appreciate all the conveniences of urban living, for example, not having to drive six miles to buy a pint of milk. Having lots of friends living within walking distance is a definite positive point. And I dislike the parochiality of country living - the 'no man is an island'-ness of it. There is an anonymity to living the town that I enjoy.



But I miss the country. I miss watching the hills change with the seasons, from green to red to brown and then back to green again. I miss the silence. I miss the sense of being part of the land and the cycle of the seasons that I get when I am in that environment. I miss the trees.



I need to plough on with the project to turn the yard in to a micro-garden.





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