She returns to Cornwall after 50 years. She has a feeling of so close to a memory you can touch it and yet it continues to allude you. Ouch!
W.B. Yeat’s poem
When You are Old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrow of your changing face.
And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And his his face amid a crowd of stars.
They say to only leave footprints but sometimes it doesn’t feel enough as if one is still searching for something. Perhaps that is what life is an ongoing search for something un able to be found but along the way is all this beauty and life.
Graffitti Granny 