Ploudalmézeau (Finistère, France)
On Sundays, they haunt me - the ghosts of the past. They come in the silence, when everyday life pauses. No work is pressing, no shopping is distracting, no hustle and bustle protects against them. Especially on days like these, when the rain is pattering against the windows and the world outside seems closed off. Normally, nature offers refuge, is more than just a distraction - it is therapy that I seek out as often as possible.
Today is another such Sunday. The morning began hopefully with a walk on the beach, but now, at lunchtime, it already seems like a distant memory. The rising wind brought rain and drove us back to our accommodation - a bright, spacious retreat nestled between old stone architecture and lush nature. All around are manicured gardens with palm trees and majestic trees, an ensemble of vacation homes.
Several beaches with velvety white sand are within walking distance. Deep brown rocks protrude from the surf, where the waves break thunderously. These beaches are my anchor during my first week here. When I can't be there, my thoughts wander to them. This idea alone evokes joy, almost happiness. On site, these feelings intensify into an intense presence. But as soon as images of the past penetrate my thoughts, I start to fall.
I am powerless against this fall. How I wish I could catch myself, find some inner support. Because this fall is taking a long time, too long. Perhaps it is what is called fate: as a child, we were denied what we needed to grow. Now we carry this burden for a lifetime. I hope to find inner peace here. This is not the only reason why we are extending our stay here.
On Sundays, they haunt me - the ghosts of the past. They come in the silence, when everyday life pauses. No work is pressing, no shopping is distracting, no hustle and bustle protects against them. Especially on days like these, when the rain is pattering against the windows and the world outside seems closed off. Normally, nature offers refuge, is more than just a distraction - it is therapy that I seek out as often as possible.
Today is another such Sunday. The morning began hopefully with a walk on the beach, but now, at lunchtime, it already seems like a distant memory. The rising wind brought rain and drove us back to our accommodation - a bright, spacious retreat nestled between old stone architecture and lush nature. All around are manicured gardens with palm trees and majestic trees, an ensemble of vacation homes.
Several beaches with velvety white sand are within walking distance. Deep brown rocks protrude from the surf, where the waves break thunderously. These beaches are my anchor during my first week here. When I can't be there, my thoughts wander to them. This idea alone evokes joy, almost happiness. On site, these feelings intensify into an intense presence. But as soon as images of the past penetrate my thoughts, I start to fall.
I am powerless against this fall. How I wish I could catch myself, find some inner support. Because this fall is taking a long time, too long. Perhaps it is what is called fate: as a child, we were denied what we needed to grow. Now we carry this burden for a lifetime. I hope to find inner peace here. This is not the only reason why we are extending our stay here.