Going Home

'A trip into Shrewsbury to buy a few odds and ends.  Such a glorious day, a breath of Spring.  We decided to take a bit of time out and walk around the Dingle. It was so beautiful. Cherry blossom in all shades of pink, from deepest carmine to the palest whisper. Reddish bronze acers, Crown Imperials and Spring bulbs in all their splendour. As we sat on a wooden seat we watched deep sapphire coloured mallard ducks skimming expertly across the water. In a while we came up by the wrought iron gates near St Chad's, leading into the old church yard.

Here and there bluebells and tiny groundsel were making new life. We read of the lives chiselled on the lichen covered tablets, people mostly from the eighteen hundreds that had passed by here through life's journey. By the east wall, a huge yew tree had fallen foul of the Winter storms and had come under the tree surgeon's saw. But all around were tiny yew saplings lovingly planted - mighty trees in another couple of hundred years so. It seemed to me that the past, the present and future were so intricately bound in that moment.'

I wrote that in 2009 - three years ago. Went to Shrewsbury again today, but on my own - same time of year, same place, but like it does, everything had moved on.

The little yew saplings had grown somewhat and the tree that had been so badly damaged wasn't there any more. The stump with the names of the tree surgeons carved on it was now covered in ivy, their claim to fame well buried beneath the twisted vines.

See the circle of cobbles by the wooden seats. That's old, wonder what lies beneath it?

A grey squirrel appeared as if from nowhere. He paused for a moment, sat back on his hind legs rubbing his front paws (or whatever squirrels have)and making a clicking sound with his sharp little teeth,  trying to work out if I was friend or foe. In a blink of an eye he was up the top of the tree.

The magnolia bush seemed to light up against the grey pebble dash of the old church house.

I walked back through the wrought iron gates and across to the Dingle garden.

The spire of St Chad's behind me bright shining up there in the sunshine.

And everywhere buds

and blossom.

But no mallard drakes or ducks - not one. I guess they had something better to do.