I’m always happy when I get back to Scotland in time for the bluebells. These flowers have their own stories and it’s not for me to tell them — at least not right now, as I have deadlines — but they turn my mind to so many other stories. Many of them deal with the dangers of walking through the bluebells and finding yourself in the other lands like True Thomas and Tam Lin. I often think of Graham Joyce’s Some Kind of Fairy Tale and remember his insightful curiosity and many kindnesses. And always, his hypnotic prose:

But there are times in life when a door opens and you are offered a glimpse of the light on the water, and you know that if you don’t take it, that door slams shut, and maybe forever. Maybe you fool yourself into thinking that you had a choice at all; maybe you were always going to say yes. Maybe refusing was no more a choice than is holding your breath. You were always going to breathe. You were always going to say yes.

So here are some pictures of bluebells from the Sunday saunter to granddad’s house and a promise that soon you’ll get something more substantial from me. Today is the first day of the last course: a medieval dérive, I have called it. My colleagues are shutting up shop and packing boxes, so inevitably I am out of step, having cleared my office and set sail.

Good-byes are hard, yet often not final–or when they are, you weren’t ready for them. If you have time today, take off your shoes and let the earth sing through your feet and hold the memory of people you miss.