But I am from this place, it holds the bones of my ancestors, I am indigenous and within my ontological self I hold a few brief, barely tangible, hard to hold memories....
always always without thinking why whenever i think of a house i would like to own I always imagine one running alongside a stream or drain or gote or dyke, one with a little bridge to enable egress to shelter and safety. This to me since childhood began has seemed the natural way of a home, the right way to live. There are many of these homes still; linear stretches of street or drove... I have lived in a terrace once in the far distant westlands of Cornwall. A new build a little eco-terrace with a man-made brook in front of the houses and a grate to walk over to reach home. It seemed exactly the right thing to have! Perhaps my fen memory led me to that little space and although I wasn't to live in it for long i loved that little shelter and felt safe and secure behind my mote
i have devised a plan too... for my end of life when i am still a little able... a plan of kayaking west.... heading out in my own little boat when all my power has almost dwindled... perhaps this too is a vestige of fen memory that I carry on some gene whim, an idea that is far from original but echoes the boatman of old... carrying away across the waters... and I unthinking plan such an end as it seems fitting and apt...
we carry our past with us on our journeys forward