Sitting in a grassy field near Lanhydrock. Life continues at a great pace but in another location, not here. A ladybug is sitting very still on my page. Green, enclosed fields, forested hillocks, the grass all gone to seed.
I feel deeply at peace, deeply happy and a little bit excited about what life might bring my way in the next year or so. There is nowhere I’d rather be than here, nothing I’d rather be doing. The soft whispering of the spirit in the wind in the treetops and the waving barley.
I feel no deep longing for something other than what I have, just a faint sense of loss, bereavement, of missing someone or something, an awareness of the finiteness of all things, all people, all experiences.
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