Feelings of Elated Joy.

    Yesterday ("bom, bom, bom" – thank you, Beatles), I went out dropping flyers in our village (they’re advertising The Laughing Dragons’ Table-Top Sale next Saturday).   I did the whole of the area South of the River (where all the posh people live).
     Walking down Abbey Road past the Donkey Field, I was overcome with a sense of great happiness, of great spiritual joy.   It was caused by simply looking at the Field:  seeing the foxgloves flowering along its fence at the edge of the lane, seeing the line of Summer-leaved trees along the young River Teifi on the other side of the Field, seeing the rise of Pen-y-Bannau beyond keeping watch over the scene.
     I wanted to sing for joy – so I did, quite loudly.   No-one was near enough to hear me, for it was Saturday morning and folk were either still in bed or watching on telly something infinitely more trivial than the scene outside their windows.
     The whole experience reminded me of two things:  I live where I know I should live, for this land calls to me still;  I still have the walking-alone-in-the-countryside gene which I discovered in my early teens.
     Life, despite it’s sometimes heavy and almost unbearable trials, is a sweet thing.
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