I pulled in back home around 12:30 Saturday morning, somehow the time from plane to car dragged as I waited for my bag and then a cab. The morning counted second hands too quickly before the back road through Krambach reached Wingham. The home of wisdom sits seemingly vacant while I gather my thoughts of happier times. If only time favoured now- perhaps it would still be home.
Penchant an opportunity to remind me of the drive, the nub of this week has been watching myself move each day from beyond. Each footstep taken, word uttered or memory reflected, all in awe to the vision splendid of the past. As this country grows around me, I bathe in the enlightenment of tragic pasts and hopeful tomorrows, singing familiar songs in foreign tongue.
In a hollow, sandstone hull, words whispered to develop caution in the moments to follow. Goosebumps injected firmly under the skin to mould the fear from the past, as the hope for the future enlightened the mind. Over 100 years later, my soul met the call of ancestors to their abandoned orphanage. Their mark, a testament to a life I now enjoy. Forever remembered. Forever country.
Having returned from holidays and now being in the second week of work, it's hard to think of what the bustle was like before taking time off. I remember feeling frustrated in the local coffee shop when it took more than 5 minutes to get a coffee, wondering why it took substantially more time than in the city. I wonder about the small talk, the slowing walking pace on the streets, others knowing the family links and actions even before me.