So now I'm back, and I have to tell you about red fox, which seems like an impossible task at this point. I had a lot of shifts in perspective over the days, and I can still hear the voices of everyone I met there in my head, offering support. At the airport on the way home, I kept doing double takes, as I saw their familiar faces in the strangers around me.
I think the story of Saturday afternoon gets to the root of it. There was lots of down time between classes and meals, space in which to think and dream, process and consider. I loved having that space, and after lunch on Saturday, I wandered outside to take some photos. I visited with the Shetland ponies, and watched one of them try to eat the top of my slipper. I walked down the drive, which was really a field with a meandering track through it to the house.
As I came back, I could hear loud music and laughter from the dining room. I passed the open french doors and saw a group of 6 or so, merrily collaging and art journalling and just having fun. It did cross my mind that I should go in, because I was being too quiet and uncommunicative. But instead I took a photo and passed on. I stopped at the corner of the house, and looked out at the fields for a good while, with all the sounds they were making at my back. I felt part of the group, as connected to them as I would have been if I was in there laughing and talking. I could feel the others too, those in their rooms and walking outside, those reading quietly and resting in bed.
I could feel everyone's acceptance of me. I realised that, for the first time in my life outside of my family, I was with a group of people in which I loved every single one and they me. I had no fear they were judging me. I had no desire to judge them. I knew that none of them were thinking I was unconfident or not pulling her weight in the group or not valuable to them. I knew that support and trust flowed between us all, and would still, even when we went back to our everyday lives.
The bonds are deep and strong, and as I travelled home on Sunday, this line kept flowing around my head:
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) ~ e e cummings