Opening the door to my kitchen, to warmth and a welcome home. It’s been a long journey and I am weary and tired. The stove heats the heart of our home.

The atmosphere is warm, bathed in the late evening sun, with golden light shining in through the window. I sit down in the armchair placed by the fire to relax, breathe out and kick off my shoes. Outside the wind is howling now as the dusk arrives, the sea outside is splashing gently against the cliffs below.

Returning to familiarity is soothing and reassuring. Tears of relief well in my eyes. On the large dresser are many jars, bowls, plates, and jugs. A hotchpotch of crockery.

Amongst them are things we collected or decided to keep for later. Pine cones, leaves and dried berries decorate the shelves, and jars of pear jam, chutney and rosehip syrup. Feathers collected and stuffed in a pot. Shells from the beach, candles, a battered copper kettle. Photographs of family and pets, a foreign costume doll, two small lanterns. All added over the years. Reminding me of places and people, memorabilia such as the glass apothecary measures from the dispensary and the model Wallace and Gromit sidecar.

Hidden in the furthest corners are tinctures of distilled hurts, and fears written in time capsules, experienced and mummified to bear witness silently.

Lying on its side is a photograph album of lives lived in other places, distant relatives capturing the moments of adventure or birth. A potent mixture of memories blended to a bittersweet coffee concoction to both wake me up and resonate. Gifts of memory. Intense enough to awaken me and bring my focus alive.

Helping me to persevere in adversity. I will stand up and protect others and face the confusion and fear. The mementos and creative gifts; lost one’s trinkets ring with laughter, not tears. Emblems of normal lives, celebrations and everyday meals. Times of trust and joy will return. There will be Treaties of Trust tied with red ribbons and wax. To be held up and read aloud to the world for equality and respect.

I see moths flying from the blankets into the light rejoicing in their freedom. I will weave a spell to save the scared and worried. To support the weak and tired, the troubled and pained. I will ask the dove angel to help me bring safety and compassion into the barren, bleak places to envelop despair with love, to lift and lighten the sense of destruction and loss of liberty. A hammock to hold our hearts safely and let the world rest and restore our freedom.

We will mothball the upset, misunderstandings, loneliness, anger, lies, and violence in a trunk with a padlock of purpose; to end the polarity and inflammatory rhetoric. Pour over oils to cool and soothe and steep the world in sleep and the purity of peace.

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