A swallow lands in the garden and I long to find out where it is from, those misty, blue mountains looked after it for so long. Was it the valleys of Natal or the crags of the Cape. A migration, so long, for one so small takes me back.
Those mist covered mountains, far from me now. This place is home now as I want it to be. Someday I will return to the fells and fens, the valleys and the friends. Through my life of discovery and the search for our beginning, has taken me into the past, I witness the future and feel the suffering. The wars rage on, it sometimes burns and is always hungry.
And through it all, I miss your fells and fens, the valleys and the friends. Life in fear of the alarm still does not desert me but those blue covered mountain's still call.
There is so many different continents, climates and cultures. If I follow my head I will go north, but my heart takes me south, so many different suns, warming just one world but why do we think we are in different worlds, under that silly sun. That is when I look to the moon and what is written in the cosmos, following the lines of my hand and tasting the dry winds. I long again for the fells and fens, the valleys and the friend.