I had a dream long ago of a long white pier, ornate and beautiful on a blue sea. I floated above it as if in a plane circling it. The image as been drifting in my mind since. I knew on this trip I wanted to see the white cliffs of Dover and in researching them, I found the Seven Sisters instead.
What is in the missing of a person, a place, a thing? The ache of longing for a familiar face, a home cooked meal, or one’s own bed settles in when on the road. There is a comfort in being in the same space as a good friend or hearing a love’s laugh. Sometimes as I wander the streets of a foreign city, I experience a strange connection in the face of a perfect stranger.
Imagine a Dr. Seuss book, its illustrations showing green hills outlined with swirls. Beyond those hills, waterfalls cascade in the distance and a light fog hangs in the air above. Insert a few labyrinths, twisting trees, spongy grass, conical mounds with a perfect pond at the base and you might come close to visualizing the Faerie Glen on the Isle of Skye.