The Tracks Of My Years

The Tracks Of My Years

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No-one but me wants to follow a track marked by my blurred, and probably unreliable memory. However there are some memories daubed in indelible ink. Searingly poignant memories, that stop me in my tracks; and render me incapable of movement, or of rational thought.. that I can’t let by unrecorded. (Nor can I resist a passing title reference to a great song; if it fits).

A week or so ago I visited the beach below Killintringan Lighthouse,  on the extreme west coast of lower Scotland, for the first time in roughly 20 years. My all-time (so far) favourite photo’ of my children was taken there. I only have to think of it and it’s as though someone had placed it in my hand.

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Since that time, and only very recently, I received confirmation of the divorce – which my ‘ex’ and I have fought (yes fought) hard to achieve amicably. The beach, after a gloriously blustery, cold – and occasionally scary – short climb down had sand untouched by human. Battered by a fierce wind –  whipping a rising tide into large photogenic breakers  – we had to cut our visit short.

On the cliff above – I was suddenly hit by more than a wet wind; I cried, and coudn’t somehow stop. The tears – the tracks of my years – hit as hard as a storm in my face.

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I cried for the hardship my children felt living with the unhappiness of their parents.. I suddenly saw the pain I had caused – selfishly – in showing my feelings in ways that were not always appropriate. For the pain I had caused anyone involved.

I could not change a thing. But I mourned for lost hope and chances.
Life has us learn in the most extra-ordinary way. I don’t look to make excuses here – or to fuel the writing of a post with my feelings for absolution’s sake. There is none.

Losing myself in the landscape – I found – and acknowledged – my responsibility for things past. Wandering along the tracks of my years.. and the tracks of my tears.. I came home to myself.

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The Tracks Of My Years

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About largelyhelen

Designer, photographer, writer.
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