A Resting Place

It was time.  Long past time actually, but then perhaps maybe just the right time. 

A trip to Bala.  The place where as children spent countless happy summer days at my Grandparent's cottage on the Moon River.  And before us there was my Mother and her brothers that did the same.

It is strange how different and the same it is a the same time.  A familiar feeling of being home is there when I walk down to the shore, past the old cottage which is no longer ours.  I look to the window of my childhood bedroom and remember mornings listening to the early singing of the birds while Gramma shuffled around in the kitchen preparing breakfast for us -usually oatmeal alongside tiny glasses of orange juice and perfectly soft boiled eggs with toast fingers.  

So many memories at this place.  The trees and rocks hold the energies of the people and animals that have been here.  The rustling leaves, whispering pines and the waves lapping at the shoreline telling the stories of our childhood and of those before us.  

We were happy here, young carefree children not yet troubled or disillusioned by life.

This is a good place to rest, Gregory.  You were happy here.You will be satisfied and at peace finally.