I’ve been to this place before.
Not this farm exactly.
But one like it. A long time ago, but not far away. Ridiculously green tea and inky dams and hedges full of pinkforagirl, blueforaboy hydrangea.
I was smooth of skin, my hair long and glossy. Radiantly expectant – of life: mine and the one plumply growing inside me; my belly full of the 22 year old son who towers over me now.
I was impatient, hasty, demanding. The necessary selfishness of youth. I can see that now: as my older self reflects.
But I wonder what my 25 year old self would think of the older alter ego were she to meet her now?
Would she think her too tolerant of a far flung life? Too accepting? Meekly trailing in her husband’s wake? Or would she consider her resourceful? Brave? Inspiring?
I don’t know.
I do know, for sure though, that she’d observe this older woman and definitely think her roots needed doing and a slick of lippie wouldn’t go amiss …