I could post 27 pictures very like the one above. A picture for each year we have been coming to this spot and asking a passer by to take a snap of us. Marking the moment. Always in winter.  Always in the wind.  Always the last moment to capture before the long drive home.

Our first visit came about because my friend’s father died.

Far too young

We came away to think of him. And ever since we have returned every year at the same time.

We have come here heavily pregnant (fortunately only one of us each time). We have come here knowing a marriage was over. We have come here grieving more loved ones lost. We have come here when we are unable to breathe from the brutality of what dementia does to someone. We have come here in the midst of career changes. We have come here in the middle of house moves. We have come here as our children have struggled and flourished in equal measure and somehow grown, so very quick, to be adults. We have come here in all the mess and in all the joy

Getting older brings an understanding of just how inexplicable and truly beautiful life can be.

Terrifying, painful, dazzling, precious life.

An understanding that the wind still tangles up your hair

And that you still laugh from your belly

And that true friendship survives all the curve balls thrown

And that the sea still lashes against the cob wall and drenches you when you least expect it. Making you curse and laugh all at once.

And isn’t it a privilege to have experienced it all?

And isn’t it wonderful that you are so much less self-conscious than you were all those years back?

And haven’t you a measure of your own strength and resilience?

And don’t you still look forward to the future twists and turns and forks in the road?

I no longer mourn the passing of the years as I get older.

Instead I carry them with me with a quiet knowing and appreciation.