Traves Tangents

On Friday one of my dearest, naughtiest friends died. We had been planning to meet up in New York in April. Instead I’ve made my way to my second home, to Burgundy, to say goodbye. I have nothing new, or profound to say about death. I loved him, he loved me, we knew it, we said it, we lived it, I’m grateful.   

Unlike friends from Cymru, or Yorkshire, I don't feel a huge connection to the place of my birth, Kent.  However, on Boxing Day I had a run along the route, or an old, familiar childhood walk. Going far further than I meant to, enjoying the sight of familiar trees and fields. I was able to appreciate the quiet beauty of the place, the bricks and tile vernacular building style... ...and mourned the changes, so many orchard and hop fields gone. On my return to my parents' house, the house where I was born, I was greeted by roses still in bloom (as am I).