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A Pottery Owl
Feb. 12th, 2015 10:00 amMy mother indicates the pottery owl on her chest of drawers. "Do you remember?" she asks. "You walked miles to buy that."
Indeed I do. But I'm surprised she does.
And pleased, of course. Sometimes I think she's no longer here and then there'll come a flash like this which shows she is.
It was half a century ago and I'd have been about 12. We were on holiday at Tarr Steps in Somerset and it was her birthday the following day and I hadn't got anything to give her, so I took off in the afternoon and walked to Dulverton- a distance of something like eight miles there and back. A stretch of the path lay along the river valley. It was very lonely- and I had to go past a ruined house with a history (did my sister and I make this up or was it an authentic tradition?) of suicide and haunting.
Indeed I do. But I'm surprised she does.
And pleased, of course. Sometimes I think she's no longer here and then there'll come a flash like this which shows she is.
It was half a century ago and I'd have been about 12. We were on holiday at Tarr Steps in Somerset and it was her birthday the following day and I hadn't got anything to give her, so I took off in the afternoon and walked to Dulverton- a distance of something like eight miles there and back. A stretch of the path lay along the river valley. It was very lonely- and I had to go past a ruined house with a history (did my sister and I make this up or was it an authentic tradition?) of suicide and haunting.
