I leave on the morrow. It makes me sad to think I will not see these hills for many months and years. This country has a beauty to it, a sense of tamed magnificence that Canada just doesn’t have. Canada’s beauty comes from the vast forests and expanses of the boreal shield, but England’s rolling hills and windswept fields touch a string on my heart.
I lived here once. I never truly appreciated the beauty of this place when I was a child, and I am glad to have had the opportunity to re-experience it. I have had a summer which I hope to rival in the future only by repeating my experience. Digging at Vindolanda has only whetted my appetite for archaeology and sharpened my thirst for knowledge. The people I have met and the friends I have made will stay with me for ever.
In saying this, though, I diminish the passion I feel for Canada. The comfort I feel in my home, the companionship of my friends and family, and the little things which make the difference between these countries of mine. I will be glad to come home.
I won’t be looking forward to the weather, though. A few overcast days would improve my mood considerably. Maybe I can have a cool breeze in the bargain. That would be nice.