Mothers

As much as I love the city, for it is home, and all that it offers in the way of experiences, never again was I to be content with my containment within its borders. After that first experience of mine, where I truly saw the stars in all their glory, I knew I needed more than what the city could offer me. I grew up with my mother's stories of the Welsh countryside. Many a night, I flew on swift wings, accompanying my mum on her treck across fields of Heather and Gorse as she made her way out across the Scottish Highlands. It's one of my favourite stories.

She passed away, my mum, whilst I was still quite young. I don't remember much of her; certainly not the colour of her eyes or anything so trivial. What I do recall is the rolling cadence of her voice as she told me tale after tale on cold winters nights. For me, gazing up at the stars is, alongside the telling of my own tales, my way to remember her. I long, one day, to have such a relationship with a daughter of my own.