She took me by the hand and led me straight
to Fairlight Glen. There, under leaden skies,
oblivious of the rain, she stood, in deep reflection.
Her hair was matted to her face; her clothes tormented
by the wind and raindrops fell upon her cheeks, like tears
from some Olympian god.
And though I understood her reverie, it seemed to be
my place to stand apart and not to interfere,
for now she was alone with her own special memory.
We saw majestic cliffs of downland chalk do battle
with the raging sea and gentle hills fold in upon
themselves to meet the rugged shore.
It fell to me to realise that each of us has, held
within experience, his or her own special place
Our very own and individual Fairlight Glen.
As I looked at this young woman, so deeply lost
in thought, she quietly smiled and, lest it change,
she turned away from memory and what she saw.
A magic moment, within a stolen day, for then,
she led me by the hand again and laughed as we came
down from ‘heaven in the falling rain
A repost of an account of a special moment in my life