wish

i wish so much i could show you some of the joys of my life. it begins with waking up every morning in a field and poking my head out my tent door to check the weather before i get up. shuffling sleepily into the cafe to get tea from the already roaring urns, i am greeted by so many people with so much real concern. i love how gradually, we all congregate in a circle, some wandering in late, some having been brightly awake for hours, we sit and tell each other how we are, really, truly, deep inside. i hear them and they hear me and this is my beautiful, beautiful life.

every day i see things more and more clearly. every day i understand a little bit more about myself. everyday i am challenged in so many amazing, wonderful, beautiful ways, and everyday i rise to that challenge and grow with it. i have found another family, i have created another family, and i do not think that things could be any more beautiful or perfect than they are at this moment.

visiting friends

we stagger up the hill. what was a group, walking closely, laughing and talking at the bottom of the hill slowly lengthens into a line of people, burdened with bags and instruments, puffing our way up. the first ones to the top knock on the door and wait, turning to look back round across the town, pointing out the stillness of the sea and the constantly changing reflection of the sun on the water. there is a moment of silent appreciation before the next few arrive, and then the door opens to warmth and smiles, beckoning hands and a multitude of greetings. i follow them all in, shutting the door behind me, making sure there are no stragglers. i feel safe in this house, full of friends and light and laughter. the hall is empty, coats are hung haphazardly on the bannister, there are paper chains hanging from the ceiling, left over from a party weeks ago. i look up and smile, remembering how long it took us to make them. i walk past the front room and peek in, unusually it is empty, tv off, no smoky haze and people chatting. i carry on down the passage towards the kitchen until i hear a jumble of voices, and go out the back door to see a table around which is squeezed all the people i love. candles light the scene, the sun is slowly sinking behind the building and the sliver of sea i can see is brilliant pink and purple. down the end of the garden the hens have been locked in for the night and amy proudly points out to me the tyres full of flowers and the empty pots just waiting to be full. we sit and talk, drink tea and play cards, songs are started, sometimes finnished or drowned out with gales of laughter. the light goes slowly and we huddle together as it gets colder. people lend jumpers and scarves, borrow blankets and hats, until we are all wrapped up, wrapped together, feet all under one blanket under the table, blankets slipping and being pulled around warm shoulders pressed together to keep the world out. laughter is our language, it echoes between the high walls of the house, bouncing up into the clear air and spiraling up to join the clouds which shield the sun, turning the sky from light blue to dusky pink to purple right to the darkest black which is creeping in behind our heads.