A year ago this week we bundled up our little family and packed all the things that were vital for living (tools, lego...) into a big metal trailer and moved across Europe. From France to a little island called Great Britain.
A year ago today I came to see the house that is now my home.
Over the year, I've watched the light fade into a blue hum that signified a coming winter colder than I'd known in a long long time. Then I've watched it lengthen and creep into the various corners of the house and light up the details (and dust) that I hadn't noticed before.
Over time I've ventured out from this place in ever increasing loops, running up the dales, measuring the land with my stride and keeping time, not looking back until, up on the top the whole landscape rolls out and away, eventually dissolving into the bright streak of wide river.
I still go on 'fishing' trips with my camera. The haul is somewhat different from France. The light is often quieter here. The time is often a little more rushed. I have to look more carefully, more deliberately.
A year ago today it was raining and this house was someone else's house filled with 40 years worth of another family's memories, traditions and life.
A year on, the sun is brightly shining and I'm wondering, after never living anywhere for longer than 5 years, if this is the place that might hold on to me a little tighter, a little longer. Perhaps, perhaps...