It's raining. It's gushing out of the sky to the point where you can't really be sure it's summer. But in North Devon at least we can say this is something we are not totally unfamiliar with. Ever since I have lived here, I have been forced to acknowledge the routine presence of rain in my life. Not long after I came to North Devon I muttered some comment about 'Sunny Devon' to a long-term resident as the rain poured down. 'Ha ha', he said. 'Now you know why North Devon is such a good dairy farming area'. Well that's all right then.
I like the sogginess and the greenness and the sponginess of living in a place where it rains so much. But having said that I also like the hot dryness of places in the summer, which is why I am heading to Greece soon. Only for a few weeks, but I hope it will give me some respite from the drenching that the elements are subjecting us to at the moment.
And while I wait to go on holiday - to a place that is many, many miles from North Devon - I am going slightly bonkers. At work I keep uttering the mantra 'I can't go on'. The truth is that I can go on, but only just. I haven't had a break from work - apart from at the time of my dad's death - since last autumn. I want to kick back, read poems, maybe even write poems, and stare at a point on the horizon. I want to hear the cicadas and worship the blue sky and the blue sea. Smell the pines and hear happiness in a foreign tongue.
I'm losing it here in North Devon and I need release. But how much will I miss here while I am there?
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