Had a weird sense of déjà vu this morning.
I headed out into the village, early, to pick up a loaf of bread. After having bought a bloomer from the bakery, I headed over to our small supermarket to get Alice a frais she'd requested - with the river lying between the two.
As I crossed the bridge I could see, to my right, the river bubbling along. Ahead of me, beyond the village, lay the hills (such as we have hills, down in Wiltshire) which overlook the village. For all the weather has been very grey and wet lately, everything here is still very lush and green - the field next door, for example, has obviously got something growing in it already.
Anyway, I was reminded of childhood holidays. We used to go to a place caller Llanrwst, in north Wales on the edge of Snowdonia. We would go there every year - my parents went there for their honeymoon and I guess got into the habit. I would go to the park there, and on one side would be flowing the River Conwy (often quite pungent due to the reeds that were growing above the low water level) and on the other, just a mile or so away, was the mountain. A "real" mountain (at least to a small kid from Liverpool), luscious because of the fir forest growing on its slopes. When I think back to childhood, it is these memories which are the most peaceful.
And as I looked up this morning I realised just how lucky I am.