It’s one of those magical mornings,
A mug, left on a wall, rainwater collected in the bottom.
A curled up towel on the corner of the lawn.
A forgotten chair, tossed upside down by the wind.
Nature has reclaimed them for its own.
It’s no secret that I love Fowey and Daphne du Maurier, and lots of my pictures and posts feature both of them. Having spent a lot of time there in recent years, I thought I’d write a bit about the links that Daphne’s writing has with this special little piece of south Cornwall.
I can see the whites of the rooftop
emerging through the tree branches
as the leaves fall away,
giving way to this barren scene.
It’s no secret that Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier was inspired by Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte’s classic novel of love and madness. Rebecca is a book that I probably reread at least once a year – I can recite the opening paragraphs by heart. But Jane Eyre I don’t know so well.
It’s that time of year again – time to crack out the Christmas songs and decorations, sing carols, eat lots of delicious food, and generally enjoy the festive period, company of friends and family. But it’s also a terribly nostalgic and strange time.
Last week, I attended the fourth family funeral in the last six years. I really hope it’s the last, for a good while yet, but I’ve come to accept that you never really know. Life is short and you never know what’s next.
We didn’t know it then –
I love to do lists.
Written in Fowey, September ’15
I went to bed at 9.30 last night, which was absolutely amazing after a few late nights (which I am not used to anymore!) and lots of driving, as well as the sea air.