Friday 11th June

Day 53

I’ve been in the Channel all day swimming to France - our holiday has been giving me directions - pulling me this way and that. But mostly in circles. I’m still here, floundering, clothes laid out in sunshine on the bed, suitcase empty. Feeling tired with all there is still to do.

Leaving behind the weaving strands of my life is like a tiny death. This is what I’ll miss - seeing the rose buds bloom pink and wide petalled on the fence, watching our white dangling strawberries turn sun glossy red, munching on the crisp heavy hearts of the little gem lettuces at the allotment. My father’s smile.

And this blog - not posting it feels like breaking the string that knots the glass beads together in a necklace. Except now, after 53 days, I know I can write where ever I am. So there will be fourteen new beads to add to the string when I come back - leading me home.