Sometimes when I am doing the most mundane tasks I find myself in other places in my head. Folding the washing, tidying up after the boys: this morning I had the radio on and this song was playing.
I have not listened to it for a long time, had forgotten how beautiful it is, I want to share with you the ethereal other-worldliness that it has.
Do you remember being a child; just becoming aware of the wider world around you. This song reminds me of that feeling; long hot dusty days; my brothers catching grasshoppers and chasing me with them; telling me there were Red Indians over the top of the hill. This song brings to me memories: of walking with my Dad in the winter, our Sunday ritual, out and about in the Leicestershire landscape. Him teaching me the names of flower, birds, trees and insects. Us watching moorhens and coots skating on frozen canals. Of Summer days, watching dragonflies dancing over local ponds, spying on the ballet of hares or foxes in golden fields.
Memories chase memories: playing at the bottom of the garden, under the old apple tree on an island of grass in the vegetable plot. The small hole in the hedge where the fairies lived, making beds of grass for them, adding in cups and saucers for them to drink out of. Swinging on my swing, trying to get high enough to see the church spire, when they rang the bells.
More memories come: sitting in my bedroom window, on the deep sill, watching evening clouds. if you looked at them carefully you could make out bays and small islands; you could imagine the ships sailing in, the wild cliffs and soft sands of mystery coastlines. Each day a new island, a new country, never the same one twice.
Can you see it?