Returning to the same place

One of the privileges of living here in the valley is seeing the familiar through the changing lenses of the seasons.

I notice the difference between yesterday’s light snow flurry and the crystal clear winter sunlight a few days ago.

Yet we are not always returning to a remembered place, but maybe something stirs in us.

Reminding us of things that may be too deep to recall, shaping who we are without realising it.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;

+ T S Eliot, excerpt from Little Gidding, from Four Quartets, Faber & Faber 1944