In Wales

blue wales

house in wales

welsh oak

We are in a cozy room in an old farmhouse in Wales, and I sit in front of the fire and close my eyes, lulled by the music of a conversation I'm not quite following. People talk softly here, sometimes almost whispering––you have to lean in to hear them––and the almost-whispered words float beneath various textures of voices and an occasional lilt of laughter, and it becomes a layered composition of sound. It soothes me, as a child in bed might be soothed listening to the muffled talk of gentle grownups nearby.

We walked here once in the very-green of spring, but outside now the colors are muted, and the land is dusted with snow. This is mid-Wales, a place called Llanwrthwl, Llandrindod Wells, and we are spending the weekend with the people we call our mirror friends, (although it occurs to me now, seeing anew how talented and attractive and unusual they both are, that we are probably flattering ourselves) whom we met at the airport in Los Angeles last year. It was an unexpected little miracle, finding such good friends in so unlikely a place and time of life, but here we are, and they have made us feel comfortable and welcome.

And it's a perfect setting for whatever healing and sorting out I have to do, because it has no connection to any sad memories, exists on its own separate plane, and presents itself in a kind of moment-by-moment way. It's its own little planet right now, this house in Wales.

Later we appraise the sky before we go out walking, remembering that sudden downpour in May, but braced for cold as well. When rain comes this time, it quickly turns to hail, but then the sun returns and shines through the trees and the branches sparkle like diamonds.  We walk on mossy stones and mud and muck, looking out onto fields and hills, a palette of grey and brown and green that is somehow reassuring and calming.In the late afternoon, Nick takes us to a hidden copse of ancient oak trees, a sheltering and sacred kind of place.  I'll never forget this.  

And I'll never forget beautiful Hilary bringing me a glass filled with hot lemon juice and honey in the morning.  It's amazing how much you can care about people you very recently didn't even know, and how many interesting things there are yet to see that you might have never noticed.