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| Shropshire Hills |
I'm finding it hard to identify what exactly it is that's holding me here in the UK. I know that I've loved (and hated - but more often loved) living here for a variety of reasons. Back in Canada, if something is 100 years old it gets a plaque slapped on it and becomes a 'heritage' building. Here in the UK, it's all relative - 100 years is old, but 100 year old buildings are pretty common. I love history - and being surrounded by it all the time can be pretty awe inspiring. This is also a beautiful country - despite the best efforts of the English to ruin it! If you ever get a chance, Bill Bryson describes England beautifully in his 'Notes from a Small Island'. There are some dramatic landscapes, sure, but most the landscapes I've come to love here are the gentle landscapes - rolling hills, quiet lanes, small cottages, perfectly formed fields.
What this country doesn't have, though, is my family - and I do miss them. It also doesn't have my husband - well, it does, but he's not my husband anymore - so I often find myself wondering why I don't just up sticks and go home.
And yet I don't. Yet.
