After spending almost a month in the village where I grew up, I found myself back home in England—but thinking about both places at once.
For weeks my days had followed a very different rhythm. Mornings began with coffee beneath a vine-covered canopy, looking towards the mountain as the first sunlight crept across the hills. The air buzzed with insects, swallows darted overhead, woodpeckers tapped away in nearby gardens, while dogs barked here and there around the village.
As the day warmed, the mountain changed character with the shifting light. I’d often sit outside with another coffee or lunch, watching two hawks circling high above the meadows beneath white, billowing clouds drifting across a brilliant blue sky. Then came my favourite time of all: the hour before sunset, when the warmth of the low sun rested gently on my back and the village gradually fell silent. At dusk, fireflies appeared, and once darkness settled, the sky revealed more stars than I’ve seen almost anywhere else. On some evenings I’d drive beyond the village, switch off the headlights and simply look up. With almost no light pollution, the Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon, making the night feel wonderfully endless.
It wasn’t all peaceful contemplation, of course. Much of the trip was spent renovating the family house, with plenty of practical jobs that needed doing. But somehow even those days felt different, framed by the mountain and the slower pace of village life.
A few days ago I returned home, and yesterday I walked through my favourite park for the first time in weeks.
It had changed too. The lush spring greens had given way to the golden colours of midsummer. The familiar paths were busy with dog walkers and families enjoying the warm weather. It was certainly more urban than the quiet mountain village I’d just left, yet it still offered the same gift: a chance to slow down, think, and let my mind wander.
The contrast between the two places struck me more than ever before.
One had given me ideas for a new short story. The other quietly nudged me back towards finishing the second Her First Time audiobook and returning to work on Anthony’s Confidence. Different surroundings, different rhythms, yet both somehow encourage the same creativity.
As I walked, I realised something that perhaps I’d known for years but had never quite admitted to myself.
I no longer have one home and one place I visit.
I have two homes.
One is where my roots are, where childhood memories still linger among the mountains and where nature reminds me how small we are beneath the stars. The other is where life has taken me over the past two decades, where familiar paths, old trees and everyday routines have quietly become just as much a part of who I am.
Each restores me in its own way. Each leaves me feeling calmer, more creative and ready for whatever story comes next.
I used to think I had to choose between them.
Now I realise I don’t.
I’m fortunate enough to belong to both.
A quick writing update
Her First Time – Volume 2 is almost ready as an audiobook. The production process has taken a little longer than expected, but it won’t be long now. Watch this space!
Once that’s finished, my full attention will return to Anthony’s Confidence. I’m also working on my next Hotwife Digest story, inspired by my recent time in the village where I grew up.
Leave a Reply