Dreaming of England

I love it here where I feel safe. Safe in the arms of him. These familiar arms have carried me through my life; the whispers in my ear tell of so many stories we share together. I laugh and I cry happily here. I am comfortable. I don’t want to belong anywhere else. I belong to America.

But in my sleep my dreams betray me.

I dream of her. Of fog-shrouded castles and of writing words with extra letter Us thrown into them. Of eating pasties outside of the chippy on the corner and seeing her familiar face in the features of the pub owner down the road. Of uniformed schoolchildren and my own children calling me “mummy”. Of the gentle curve of her thin winding roads and her sultry thick mud on my Wellies. Of time spent together at London shows and ancient cathedrals. Of wandering hand in hand with her through villages of thatched roofs and little brick houses that have leaned on each other for hundreds of years.

As much as my dreams are sincere they equally decieving. Life would be easier and more comfortable if I stayed in the arms of America. Life would be more romantic and exciting if I was able to melt into the dream of England. Yet I refuse to put my own selfish desires in front of my honor. But which road is more selfish? Which is more honorable? Truly I can’t tell what my own desires are any more – when am I dreaming and when am I awake?

So I live at the whim of my emotions. My dreams. There is still a possiblity I may leave, or that possibility might have disappeared a long time ago. Perhaps it never was there. Perhaps it only existed in a nightsong. I believe I shared some secret, unspoken language with her. I felt her dancing eyes and suggestive smiles she shared with me in a castle, a little old man waiving his cane, a rainbow.  Did England feel it too?

So I will wait. Until time whispers when it is the moment that adventure and comfort can exist together. I don’t know if that means my dreams or my reality will change, but I know that it will mean that they will become one someday.

Until then, I will have her in my dreams.

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2 Responses to “Dreaming of England”


  1. 1 Wren February 26, 2007 at 5:55 pm

    I adore your post. I feel exactly the same way, though the only thing keeping me from moving from here to there is money, and the husband. He wants Mexico, I want cooler climes. “She” calls to me daily as well. I’ve much envy for you, for those that have been to the UK when I’ve yearned for it for literally half of my life, and still only step foot on the blessed isles in my dreams. I’m so glad to see that your dream of moving there has not ended, though it’s up in the air (I think) still if you are going to according to your posts. Keep writing! You’re a poet.

  2. 2 Dan March 6, 2007 at 3:03 pm

    Very poetic!

    Just in case it sways your decision, you should know that the US and the UK have completely different badgers to one another.

    These things are important.


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