How I miss that sycamore now. It’s gnarled and twisted yet perfectly elegant branches, crowding around me, holding me in my solitude.

Unconditional love that roots deep into the ancient soil of this place of moss and myths, surrounded me and pushed through layers of old leaves to get to me.

In that place, with those that live from earth, I feel welcomed home. Whenever I return there it feels permanent, a settled soul that had found its space in this, the damp side of the valley