And it sounds beautiful and adds no sense of woe to my dreary mood whatsoever. It's like a gentle little song in the background- lullaby raindrops.
This weekend has been lovely but tainted and sad but beautiful. I am sentimental, perhaps overly so sometimes, but this weekend will have been the last trip up North I will make before I leave and it's a little bit heartbreaking. I love it there and I love the ocean and the hills and the estuary and the way the lights of Aberdovey really do twinkle across the water...
And the music and the dancing and the beer and the kitchen music and rambling and red wine and listening and hugging.
It is magic.
But my love remains, no matter how far away.
I wish he could come with with me. I really wish we didn't have to spend so much time apart.
They played music this weekend, I listened, read, remembered. They play beautiful tunes and A writes them all herself from her window overlooking the tumbling hills and the farm. She tells me about the birds and jokes that the dance that the sheep are doing is Breton because they are all in a line. Then the dog runs at them and they scamper in different directions- this one is the Kinnersley Bourrée, where we run at eachother and shriek.
These are all facts.
Then we drink tea and eat biscuits or sit in the garden and name insects and talk about trees and vegetables.

Instead I kept writing and I now have a 5 page dissertation (in bullet points) of my favourite things.
Which is rather alot more productive than crying until I give my eyes a rash (again), I think. And so I am a little bit proud.
Nevertheless, my life is full of beautiful things.
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