Occasional columnist Joseph Warren has left Whitby now for pastures new – but wanted to take the opportunity to say farewell in his own way.
I took a walk today upon common fields, pondering life’s next direction.
It has been a month since I departed.
Turning which way and next, in fields that look much the same, townhouses circling the perimeter, life’s direction seems but only fog, a mist of cloudy angst is hiding my familiar.
See, things have changed, in ways that I once knew.
And I had to say goodbye to you.
These common fields are fine. The grass still wet by yesterday’s rain, it trickles through my sandals, grounding me in some way.
Yet no common land will outshine where I once stood.
Where the sun shone.
By replacement, a city where world war two bombs were flung, and cars.
And concrete. And back gardens. Oh, how I long for those fields of bracing air.
The contrast of bright yellow rape seed on the cliffs of Lythe, beneath deep blue sea and a hazy summer’s sky.
The intense contrast giving to outstanding beauty, it seemed to remove my grey.
An everlasting hope springs there, even in December’s shortest day.
I know I must continue. Continue to wade through my fog. After all, summer will go, as will winter too.
And hope springs eternal, in whatever you find new.
But I miss you all the same, dear Whitby.