Ely.
It seems to be where we’re going next. We’ve had an offer accepted on a house out on the north-west edge. It has pear trees in the garden.
I should have taken a photo of the first sight from the south, the cathedral side on, rising up from the flat land around it. The Ship of the Fens, they call it. It doesn’t look very ship-like from here, the middle of town.
Even this year I’ve spent a lot of time in Ely, mostly doing Cursillo-related things. It’s been drawing me towards it. City on a hill, fen-bounded island, eely Ely.
One of my internet friends wrote:
Build a home, put down roots, grow stuff, eat pears
and when I read it something resonated inside me: Yes. This. This is what I want.
I felt something similar at the end of the Midnight Eucharist, very early on Christmas morning:
Go in peace. Proclaim the Word made flesh.
Yes, this. And how that works, how far I stay involved with my current church, what else I do, what lies beyond that, I don’t know. I can only trust that two apparently contradictory wishes are in fact taking me towards the same figurative destination. Anyway, this physical location seems to be the place to investigate things further.
Ely, then. May it be good to us.
Kathleen Jowitt 