From the hillside
Somehow I woke up outside the city walls today. I don’t remember the moment I walked through the door, like some long stretch-er out on parole, but somehow I’m here.
I knew it was going to happen. For many months I’ve had an increasing sense of disconnection from the version of “reality” I was living in. Like Truman, I’d noticed that things weren’t adding up.
Now here I am. Semi-suddenly (it’s a thing), I’m the grey-haired woman who lives on the hill.
There’s a stone cottage; rocks; gorse (for hope and optimism); scrubby little trees and a breeze that can be a bit cruel if the sun’s not out. Birds. Rabbits. There’s a stream; a patch for growing stuff, and - if I squint - I can see smoke coming from a chimney just over…there. Is that your place? Do you have the kettle on?
A turning point. New horizons and new freedoms. I’m just going to sit a while out here on the hill and get my bearings. It’s exciting.