The country of the past...

Every story ever told.

Ah, the country of the past. It's where we all live isn't it? It’s a good place to visit but not the kind of place to get trapped in; well, at least it isn’t for me.

Of course, the size of that country depends on how much past you’ve had, whether it was good or bad, if you want to visit there and tarry for a while. For some it’s a long difficult journey to get back. For others it’s no journey at all; it’s like slipping from one room into another through a door that always remains open.

I’ve taken you here before haven’t I?

A long time ago I was driving a road at night. I’d been driving for a long time, crossing east to west across the country, coast to coast, cold sea to cold sea. I’d nearly reached my destination when at once I realised I’d have to stop and rest for a few minutes, despite the handful of miles that remained.

We’ve probably all had that feeling that our minds are wandering into sleep while we are at the wheel, the fraction of a second when, warmed into comfort by the hum of the wheels on the road, the snugness of the car interior like a comfy cocoon around us, we know that we have lost the road for a moment and dropped into the darkness of a brief unconsciousness.

I’d done the usual things: turned off the heating, opened the window, raised the volume of the radio and switched the music to something raucous and banal instead of the soothing voice of a Radio 4 presenter. If I’d had a coffee then I’d have drunk it, a cigarette and I would have smoked it. Best to stop and rest, just for a few minutes; the lanes were coming up and they were dark and narrow and I might not have the same fortune I’d had coming down the winding mountain road.

I knew a place to stop - the familiar lay-by set back from the road overlooking the invisible night time sea. Just a few minutes; some time to rest my eyes and lose the feeling of imminent dizziness which phased in and out of my head

Pulling in I turned off the engine and cut the lights. It was dark and peaceful. Just a few minutes to rest my eyes… and I was gone.

I awoke hours later, the sun rising over a flat grey sea. Disorientation hit me and I scrambled for the door and stepped out into the cold, grey dawn. My car was surrounded by birds. Gulls and rooks, starlings, even the odd thrush or two; and up in small tree, more than a bush but not quite a oak, sat a large brown owl.

We stared at each other for a while, some strange intelligence passing between us. It was as if he knew something about me and where I’d been. His eyes blinked twice, then he opened his wings and glided, swooping low and away, sending up the other birds in a scatter of the early morning light until I was quite alone.

I got back in the car, drove those last few miles and as I travelled a certainty settled on me. I knew that as I’d slept I’d travelled to the country of the past, slipped through that door which for me is not often open and the owl had come back with me to remind me of something - just what though I can’t quite remember - and this single thought:

“The country of the past; I’ve taken you there before haven’t I?”