The same old druid

For some reason the Finnish expression "sydämen maisema" sounds much more authentic than its English translation "a landscape of the heart" which has an oddly literal feel to it. In any case there are magic places in one's life - should one be so lucky - that stay disproportionately sharp in mind, in memory. 

Places that somehow retain their original magic and thus distort time: strange, strange places. I visited one such place this weekend, and can't really make full sense of the experience: how 28 years vanished and became heightened, how one could hear very distinct echoes of long since passed words in the summer night, young, laughing voices over the still waters. How not much had changed: due to its nature this particular river had kept its name exceptionally well. 

I cannot really regret my path, at all, apart from a universal sense that we all should in this fallen world. But back then I could not take all in that was so generously on offer, and there is a certain sadness in recognizing that. But for the circumstances I took much in, and that place, those people did stay and do stay in my heart, sharply etched.