When I think of moments to live and relive over and over, they are like photos taken, developed, carefully pocketed in albums. And one I return to often, rests within the leaves of a family photo album. I am sitting on a rocky outcrop, near the highest point on Mendip, cradling my infant son, windswept with his two sisters at my side. It…
When I think of moments to live and relive over and over, they are like photos taken, developed, carefully pocketed in albums. And one I return to often, rests within the leaves of a family photo album. I am sitting on a rocky outcrop, near the highest point on Mendip, cradling my infant son, windswept with his two sisters at my side. It is a vantage point which gifts the climber a view of gentle Somerset hills, patchworked fields, lakes and woods, interspersed with villages; including the one we called our home. Ed and I marvelled at how we’d found ourselves there, in a life starkly contrasting with the city-dwellers we’d been in earlier years, happy in urban edginess yet yearning for the expanse, now before us. Our family longed-for, now complete.
Gone in that perfect moment were our doubts and those of others, that we were ready for this. We were young parents still fresh from the turmoil of younger years. But why not, climb with a babe in arms and feed him on what felt like, the top of the world, whilst his sisters immersed themselves in imaginary worlds, on the rocks around us?
In the months and years before our youngest was born, Ed and I shared a strange feeling whilst walking in the woods behind our house. The girls would be up ahead, hiding or scrambling about, we knew they were there, but someone was missing, another child who was waiting to be called into existence…
And there we were, together and truly alive - my son more than just imagined into being, my daughters laughing and united in their imaginings of elsewhere, myself with the wind in my hair cradling my baby - Ed capturing us forever in that moment.
How much I love this Lou. I feel like I can see the photo as well as experience the feelings within it. And then the uncanny (in the best way) detail of how you'd sensed a third child waiting to join you. Gorgeous prose for a beautiful moment. Here is your link.. Txx
When I think of moments to live and relive over and over, they are like photos taken, developed, carefully pocketed in albums. And one I return to often, rests within the leaves of a family photo album. I am sitting on a rocky outcrop, near the highest point on Mendip, cradling my infant son, windswept with his two sisters at my side. It is a vantage point which gifts the climber a view of gentle Somerset hills, patchworked fields, lakes and woods, interspersed with villages; including the one we called our home. Ed and I marvelled at how we’d found ourselves there, in a life starkly contrasting with the city-dwellers we’d been in earlier years, happy in urban edginess yet yearning for the expanse, now before us. Our family longed-for, now complete.
Gone in that perfect moment were our doubts and those of others, that we were ready for this. We were young parents still fresh from the turmoil of younger years. But why not, climb with a babe in arms and feed him on what felt like, the top of the world, whilst his sisters immersed themselves in imaginary worlds, on the rocks around us?
In the months and years before our youngest was born, Ed and I shared a strange feeling whilst walking in the woods behind our house. The girls would be up ahead, hiding or scrambling about, we knew they were there, but someone was missing, another child who was waiting to be called into existence…
And there we were, together and truly alive - my son more than just imagined into being, my daughters laughing and united in their imaginings of elsewhere, myself with the wind in my hair cradling my baby - Ed capturing us forever in that moment.
How much I love this Lou. I feel like I can see the photo as well as experience the feelings within it. And then the uncanny (in the best way) detail of how you'd sensed a third child waiting to join you. Gorgeous prose for a beautiful moment. Here is your link.. Txx
https://thecureforsleep.com/stay-this-moment/#louhudson
Thank you Tanya, such generous words at this time of focus on your mum and your last journey together Sending love to you xx