There is a certain curve of a well-traveled road that even now occasionally fills my dreams. I have no idea why and sometimes years go by when I do not dream about it, but when I do it brings me a strange comfort. Four years ago while driving through a village in Suffolk, I found this curve in the road and in its instant familiarity and recognition, I knew exactly where I was.
How many times had I cycled past this curve on warm, summer days on my way to school a couple of miles from where I lived? Or watched it pass by as I observed it through the fogged up windows of the bus on stark, winter mornings? One or twice I had trudged through the snow that lay in drifts up against it on my walk home when the bus didn’t stop at all.
In all the places where I have lived, no matter the highs and the lows, the joy and the pain, there is a place that caught the imaginations of my heart long before I left the girl behind.
This girl was a day dreamer who longed for things yet to come, things she knew nothing about. She dreamed and hoped for a future as yet unknown as she strolled across the open countryside stretched out as far as she could see, breathing in the pure air that brimmed with the glow of good health. At these times she knew that she was stronger than anyone gave her credit for.
Long before she crossed the shining sea, before she lavished her children yet to be born with the love that overflowed from her heart to theirs, she pondered her days in the lonely hours. She watched silently as the brown field caught fire, burnished with the kiss of an early sunset as tears drenched her pale cheeks. In the deepest silence of the natural beauty surrounding her she found solace, and the reprieve she dreamed of.
It was at these times that she knew her life would never be the same, from the time of that very first betrayal. Yet she knew she would survive.
Because she was strong and she never stopped dreaming.