Time and tide wait for no man

Coming out of the pandemic in the UK makes me think of distance and time. Distance in the most literal sense with social distancing which is becoming less and less observed. Also distance as it relates to time, and in particular time gone by, people now gone and those that are missed. Where did you think we would be in our lives and where we are. How you can judge progress with such a mixed bag of things.

I travelled down to the beach this weekend and spent the day reading and writing at the beach hut. Before I opened up the beach hut I went for a long walk along the seashore on Saturday and along the way people said hello to fellow walkers, from a social distance of course. Kids wheelie their mountain bikes along the broad walk to a chorus of elders shaking their heads. The warmth of the sun on my back was a feeling I have missed.

In the afternoon I returned to my beach hut and set about living that rich life, I mean that not as a boast but rather the feeling of doing very little and loving it. The concept of having nothing yet possessing all while watching the tide go out before sundown. As I was watching this I am reading a collection of letters from history and those loved ones separated by the wars of the 20th century. This particular couple would sign off the letters, ‘you are in our hearts’ what a beautiful sign off.

One of those letters was between a grandchild and her grandfather and when they were finally reunited after 12 years he kissed her on the forehead and said “I have been waiting for you”. How beautiful, how touching, How human.

Do you wait for someone? is there someone you long to be reunited with over the distance which can be measured and bridged, a county, country or continent? or a world apart from someone who you miss and would give it all for one more “I have been waiting for you”.

So here I am, thinking about distance and time. in my beach hut thinking of you reading this post. You and I are in a different place and time, and yet we are connected and so, you are now in my heart. Hearty handshakes from me from this little yellow beach hut.

Published by NCS

reader of great literature, teller of tales, photographer of mostly awful snaps but on occasion I am half decent.

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