Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.
In a few short weeks, I’ll leave my nest and build a new one. I’ll say goodbye to the forest on my doorstep, with the ancient trees I’ve come to love. The magpies who nest in the lime trees, the rooks in the oaks, and forgotten turquoise dreaming ponds. I’ll leave behind the hill I climbed each evening, where the rainbow sunsets left colours like Holi festival paint on my skin. The winding paths, which brought me home.
18- months ago, I crawled back broken. A fractured shoulder. Concussion. Shock. It should have felt like failure, returning with my tail between my legs after yet another shattered dream. It felt like relief. God, how I needed to remember. Needed to chase peace.
Leaving is bittersweet: a new dream and the promise of Home (that word can mean so many things); necessitates a leavetaking, requiring a leap into the unknown. It means love, I hope. The chance to forge a new way forward. New things to achieve. And yet, joy keeps company with fear and grief.
