Back in London – to urban, concrete, congested living hubs. It’s been a few days since we said our goodbyes and the reality of a vacation-finally-over sinks in, you miss everyone all of sudden and post-vacation blues hits you out of nowhere.
That’s what happened yesterday while waiting for friends at Haste Hill. In between starring out of the window and starring at the discoloured orange suede chairs in the lounge, my thoughts drifted in and out recalling the past weeks away. Like screening through a photo gallery, remembering the sights and sounds of people and places.
It would be another 30 minutes before the folks got back from their game. There’s time to get some fresh air to keep my mind off this hangover.
There’s a public footpath around the course I’m sure. Seen people walking around when we were playing golf. Found it behind the clubhouse, wet and rich with geosmin.
On and on I walked, taking in the scents of feuille terre, a natural aromatherapy compliments of the earth. Round the bend the border of Hole 1 next to the cemetery as peaceful as one should be. Could have continued but it’s time to return for lunch.
Was a short fix but the blues did not go away.