Event Horizons

A visit back to Norfolk and the farm these few days, a trip into the past and the future, a place somehow no longer rooted in the present.
The farm was one of the very few places I ever felt safe or happy as a child and now the turned halcyon memories of later life are entwined into any return. For a time the farm was infinitely vast, stretching in that way of the flatlands to the horizon in every direction. All grown I now know it was an hour's leisurely stroll but still I can see these trees on the horizon and remember not being tall enough to see past the wheat to where the world ended, all grown I know now they are close but their ghosts remain a life away.

The farm's decline is fitting metaphor for my ninety-two year old Nan. Gardens that were once resplendent now are lost, pathways overgrown - the trails I take to the smashed vineyards or the toppled potting sheds are those of memory - feet following forgotten footsteps. And yet, when I pause and ponder, I stop and sit, I can still see colours brightening, trees shaping and walls holding true - the sense of a labour of love, much like the embrace of family, holds dear past the reality of the present.

Soon I know the farm will pass on, soon there will come a day I can no longer visit, those memories of yesteryear need to be shored up whilst I can, held fast in the gloaming glow of love. I can find peace with that, Nan and the farm are forever entwined, one without the other would seem untrue to either. But for now both endure.