Just rambling through the forest of life.

Palm Sunday

Woke up this morning, and lay there listening to the church bells from either the local church or our Cathedral, didn’t really matter. It was a sound I have always loved, it was also Palm Sunday. Waking to church bells or hearing church clocks strike, often makes me think of a land so green and safe, with village greens, people playing cricket in the summer, long walks in the evening ,watching the sun set over still lakes, or slow moving streams, the occasional splash of trout as they came to the surface. of an England from the past, people cycling through small villages, loacl pubs with proper beer gardens, proper oak cask beers, a village were you would expect to see Morse driving through in his red Jag.

I suppose coming from a city, I have never grown up in this land, but have spent time in the country on holidays and loved the peace and quite. City sounds in the morning always paint a different picture, full of energy, stress, and long working hours. Instead of trees of green I walk past trees of concrete, the sounds of birds replaced by the sounds of horns and people calling.

At least I can lie in bed and dream when I hear church bells.

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