My outer cargo has included a raincoat, head torch, wellies, sunglasses, binoculars, backpack. My internal baggage, contentment and sadness, joy and anxiety, irritation and uncertainty. I've felt everything – as well as nothing at all – as I've added each new layer of footsteps to those that have gone before.
A week from now, we will be packing our belongings into a van and moving house. Each encounter with my local landscape weighs heavy with sentiment. This might be the last time, I think, as I walk the dog through the jay wood, or run along the beach.
Of course, there are people I'll miss dearly, too. But people are mobile; they can visit. Places stay put. As the departure date draws closer, I feel their grip on me tighten.
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