Considered by some as a place of habitation, where a group or groups gather, to raise their young and send them out into the world as prepared as best they can be !
This is where life started for me, an ordinary group of houses built in a circular pattern not unlike a small village where everyone spoke to each other on a daily basis.
There was a green where we would play, sit under leafy trees to escape the heat of Summer and life was relatively simple, safe and secure from the outside world.
My love of roses came from this place as our local authorities planted each year maybe to lift the spirits of locals that may have survived the passage of war.
From the outside looking in it was an idyllic place, but living there was a much more complex situation.
Each of us struggled to get out, to create a life beyond this so called safe place and now I wish we could return, part of me longs for those days wandering the green counting roses wondering what tomorrow would bring.
It seems so far away now, the roses are gone and the trees have been removed to make way for cars, there is little or no space for children to play.
The residents hide behind their doubled-glazed poly-carbonate windows, blocking out noise and interference from the world...hiding in case they forced to talk to each other, how far it seems now from days gone by.
Eventually we all left that place in one way or another, there will be no trace of our being now, we will be strangers in an even more strange land.
Maybe this is the way of the world ?
We are all brought into this world by various means and each of us must travel leave in our own time and way.
Home can mean so many different things to many different people...for me it all began in the burrow.
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