At this time of year, the call of my birthplace, which will always be my home, sounds deeply in my heart. The house I was born in still stands, as it probably will for centuries. There is now central heating, and all the comforts of a modern home, but there is also the past. The spirits of my ancestors, some recently departed and some long gone, still call me home, and I'm feeling the need to see my homeland once again, before I retire myself.
On my last trip, I slept in the very bedroom where life started for me, and that can be quite a cosmic experience. My cousin is now in the house by himself. He never married, and I'm sure is quite lonely, having retired a few years ago. But he had a simple life that I envy greatly. Delivering the post to outlying areas without electric or modern conveniences.. stopping to open farmer's gates, and close them after himself.. interrupting the mornings work to watch wild horses work the moors... stopping to pick wild mushrooms for Sunday lamb.. An idyllic existance after giving up the Sea and signing onto tramp steamers in hopes of seeing the world as a young man. And see the world he did... sometimes more than he bargained for, but such is the life of a young man from an ancient seafaring town..
Click here for a little view of my smalltown home, Fishguard, Wales..