Never, but Always Will be.

There is a field; the grass is summer long, heady with deep scents  of sugars and blossom.

 

There is a small lane running alongside, hedgerows heavy with honeysuckle with the evening settling gently.

 

A caravan sits on the edge of a small stream, tickling its way through the wild flowers.

 

Opposite stands the village pub, even though there is no village.

 

But we are not going there.

 

Instead we climb back up the lane in between the honey hedges, up to the meadow of the long summer grass and along the track to the castle ruins.

 

From here we can watch the sunset, around us the bees hum their approval.

 

We can never come this way again.

 

Even if we found it.

 

Too much time, too many troubles have fallen between us.

 

It’s sad.

 

But it is how it has always been.